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ELIZABETH CRANE 


A NOVEL 

BY 

HENRY ELLSWORTH CURTIS 




BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 Broadway , New York 

BRANCH OFFICES: CHICAGO. WASHINGTON. BALTIMORE, 
ATLANTA. NORFOLK. FLORENCE. ALA. 




Copyright, 1910, 

By 

HENRY ELLSWORTH CURTIS. 



CCI.A278530 


Co 

J^elen 00. Draper 


(Elizabeth Crane) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Debut 5 

II. Weston Sibley 13 

III. The Fraudulent Deeds .... 22 

IV. Lyman Crane 31 

V. Lost Trail 39 

VI. The Alternative . . . . . .46 

VII. Lost Hope 53 

VIII. The Counterplot 59 

IX. The False Trail 67 

X. Breaking Home Ties 75 

XI. The Visit 81 

XII. The Investment 86 

XIII. Agnes Coleman 100 

XIV. Auld Lang Syne 109 

XV. The Proposal 118 

XVI. The Plans 127 

XVII. The Pleasure Trip 136 

XVIII. The Wedding ‘ 143 

XIX. The Hungry Heart 146 

XX. Restlessness 151 

XXI. A Primitive Home 158 

XXII. The Ranch 167 

XXIII. “Crossing The Bar” 173 

XXIV. The Lost is Found 176 

XXV. Good News From Home .... 182 

XXVI. Face To Face 188 

XXVII. Reunited 196 




ELIZABETH CRANE 

CHAPTER I. 

THE DEBUT. 

Nestling among the foot-hills of the Green Moun- 
tains, and on the bank of the Connecticut River, is the 

beautiful little village of B . It has long been 

famous on account of its standing in the social world. 
The homes of many wealthy and influential people 
are here, and it has the proud distinction of having 
furnished the state with at least three governors and 
as many lieutenant-governors, to say nothing of 
many other prominent statesmen who have held posi- 
tions of importance in the management of their coun- 
try’s affairs, both civic and military. Their civic 
pride was very great. Their officers for town and 
county were not chosen with regard to party, but for 
good judgment in managing affairs and for upright- 
ness of character. Consequently no town had better 
officers, none had cleaner streets, nowhere were of- 
fenders looked after with a more vigilant eye than 
here. Even the ladies of this city caught up the 
spirit of improvement as the well-kept lawns and 
gay flower beds bore testimony. 

The term “society” here means more than in many 
of the larger cities of this section. To be a member 
of the set here means a welcome to the very cream 
of society in many of the famous watering places on 
the coast and in the large cities of New York, Boston 
and Washington. 


5 


Ctane 


Notably among the most prominent of the leaders 
was General Amos Sibley and his beautiful wife, his 
name being an open sesame wherever he and his 
family went. They were always received with the 
greatest respect and deference. No social gathering of 
importance was considered complete without their 
presence. 

In personal appearance General Sibley was tall, 
stately and majestic, towering at least a head above 
his friends, and with his genial smile and hearty 
handshake for every one as he passed among them, a 
stranger could not but wonder at his popularity. 

He had served his country in the. War of the Re- 
bellion as brigadier general, and after the war had 
amassed a considerable fortune as an importer of silks 
and velvets. During the last ten years he had left 
the management of the business in the hands of 
younger men and began to enjoy to the fullest extent 
the rest and comfort earned by a life of energy and 
usefulness,. 

The mansion he occupied was located on a beautiful 
eminence overlooking the river and here he could be 
found with his wife on pleasant days, sitting on the 
broad veranda, which extended nearly around the 
house. 

A number of men were kept busy under the leader- 
ship of a gardener, whose duty it was to see that 
everything about the place was in the best of order. 

Mrs. Sibley, though one of the most conspicuous 
members of society and ever present at important 
functions, was also a central figure in the work of 
charity, always ready not only to assist, but would 
often take the lead in matters of philanthropy. In 
her church she was an earnest worker, and no storm 

6 


<2*U5a&ett) Crane 


nor weather was sufficiently inclement to prevent her 
and her husband from being at the head of their re- 
spective classes in the Sunday school services. Most 
beautiful characters both. 

In her work of charity, Mrs. Sibley had a most 
valuable assistant in the person of Elizabeth Crane, 
the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lyman Crane, also 
prominent members of this select circle. She was 
an indefatigable worker and found her greatest pleas- 
ure in attending the sick and afflicted in their distress. 

To please her mother, Elizabeth had consented to 
give part of her time to the duties she owed to the 
circle which Mrs. Crane was wont to grace with her 
presence, and in pursuance of the fact and with the 
careful training she had received in one of the leading 
seminaries of the east, Elizabeth was given a re- 
ception in honor of the event. 

The social season was at its height and cards were 
out for this, the principal event of the year. Like the 
fated city of old, this little town on the clear, eastern 
river “had gathered there, her beauty and her chiv- 
alry.” Many of the neighboring cities were repre- 
sented, and Elizabeth’s fair face flushed with pleasure 
over the success of this, her first, large, social function. 
Diamonds and pearls, silk and satin gowns were there, 
but Elizabeth in her fine, white dress of the debutante, 
with her mother’s pearls encircling her white throat, 
was by far the queen of the evening. 

The Crane bungalow, with its large and com- 
modious appointments, was a bower of gay lights 
and laughter; the faint strains of music furnished 
by the orchestra was discernible. 

The terraced lawns were aglow with electric lights 
arranged in clusters in the form of bunches of grapes 

7 


<01 f? a 6 etf> Crane 


in the trees. Here and there were artistic pieces of 
marble statuary and rustic benches from which a view 
could be had of the merry dancing through the low 
windows. 

Elizabeth Crane was an accomplished dancer, and 
very early in the evening her card was filled with the 
names of the young men who were vying with one 
another for the pleasure of a waltz with her. 

One of the dances was just over when her com- 
panion, a dark, handsome, young man on whose face 
dissipation was putting its unmistakable stamp, spoke 
in suave tones and asked for the pleasure of a little 
stroll with her about the flower-decked grounds sur- 
rounding the house. 

“I fear, Mr. Sibley, that it would scarcely be proper 
for me to absent myself just now from my guests. 
You know this is my coming-out party.” 

“Yes, I know, and it is a grand one; but among 
so many you will not be missed.” 

“Thanks ; your remark is not very complimentary.” 

“That is true, Miss Crane, and I take it back; but 
the air is close in here, and after the dance, a few 
moments outside would do you good ; besides — well — 
I want to be with you alone. I have something I 
would like to say to you.” 

“The air will do me good, so I will go with you 
for a little stroll.” 

“Thank you,” and they left the room, passing 
through the conservatory, and as they did so he 
plucked a carnation and handed it to his companion, 
saying: “This is my favorite flower, what is yours, 
if I may ask?” 

“Certainly, I love the white rose best, and then 
the red rose and then the carnation.” 

8 


CU?a&et& Crane 


She took the flower he gave her and inhaled the 
delicious odor as they walked beneath the trees. 

“Pm glad you like the carnation, even though it is 
not your favorite flower. From this moment the white 
rose shall be my favorite. Will you favor me with 
one for my button hole ? I see that you have hundreds 
of them now growing in the garden.” 

“You must not do this on my account, I cannot 
permit it. Of course you can pick any flower in the 
garden that you like, but as to changing your prefer- 
ence, I beg of you not to do so ; it is a sign of fickle- 
ness.” 

“Do you think so? Then I will prove to you that 
you are wrong.” 

“Oh, please do not go to the trouble, it is not worth 
while, besides it is time I was returning to my guests. 
My absence will be noticed,” and she attempted to 
turn about in the path. 

“Please do not go now, Miss Crane, I wanted to 
tell you that I have attended many receptions in other 
cities, but at none of them have I enjoyed myself so 
much as this one.” 

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth, simply. 

“And, furthermore, Miss Crane, you are the most 
beautiful girl I have ever seen, and I” — but Eliza- 
beth had started for the house, her head held high, her 
pride and modesty in arms. 

With a few swift steps he gained her side and made 
many abject apologies for his somewhat fulsome 
speech. 

“Please believe me, Miss Crane, it was uttered al- 
most without volition, utterly without thought of giv- 
ing offense. Please pardon me.” 

“Mr. Sibley, I am only a school girl yet. I am 

9 


<ZEU?a&et!) Crane 


unversed in the ways of the world, certainly not used 
to hearing such gross flattery and cannot listen to you. 
If, as you say, no offense was intended, I will not 
take it as such, but never refer to it again; on these 
conditions I will grant you the fullest pardon. Will 
you promise ?” 

“I will promise anything you ask and thank you, 
besides, but as a proof that you forgive, will you grant 
me the pleasure of calling on you soon ?” 

Elizabeth hesitated a moment before answering, and 
said: “My mother and I will receive on Tuesday and 
Friday afternoons, if you wish to do so you may call 
on those days.” 

“I shall be delighted to avail myself of this pleas- 
ure.” 

They had reached the reception room by this time, 
and Herbert Crofton, a stalwart young man, came 
forward to claim Elizabeth for the next waltz. He 
was tall, supple and handsome, with the air and bear- 
ing of one at peace with himself and all the world. 
Herbert Crofton was indeed a fine type of the better 
class of modern young men, athletic, educated and 
fearless ; bold to take up and firm to sustain any line 
of conduct that appealed to his ideas of right and 
honor. 

He and Elizabeth had been inseparable playmates 
since childhood, neither finding pleasure in anything 
unless the other was there to share it. He was al- 
ways her shadow. At parties, at picnics and enter- 
tainments he was always her escort. O, the happy 
hours they had spent together and now this close 
friendship had ripened into a warm affection, not 
spoken as yet, but felt and recognized by both. 

To-night Herbert lingered until all the other guests 

IO 


(gUsa&etj) Ctane 


had departed for a last few words with his friend, 
and Elizabeth throwing a light scarf over her head, 
walked with him down the path. 

How pretty she looked as she stood leaning on the 
gate and lifted her clear, blue eyes up to meet the 
equally clear, brown eyes looking down into hers. 

How happy they both looked with no thought nor 
premonition of what their next meeting would be. 
The world, this moonlight night lay very white and 
still and beautiful before them. “Elizabeth,” said 
Herbert, very softly after a few moments of silence, 
“I am going away early in the morning on a busi- 
ness trip for the firm. Will you miss me?” 

“O, Herbert, how can you ask me? You know I 
will miss you a great deal, but why this sudden warn- 
ing? Where are you going and how long will you 
be absent? O tell me, you gave me no hint of this 
before.” 

She placed her hand upon his as it rested on the 
gate, and with a longing look into his face, waited 
for him to speak. 

“My dear girl, I did not know until to-day and I did 
not get an opportunity to speak of it before. I am 
glad that you will care, for when I return I want 
to ask you a question; can you guess what it is?” 

For answer she cast her eyes down for a moment, 
then lifted them bravely and smiled fondly. No word 
was uttered, but Herbert read his answer with a glad 
heart and, stooping down, he kissed her smooth, white 
forehead. 

“I will be gone, perhaps six or eight weeks, but 
rest assured I will return as soon as I can consist- 
ently ; my interest in our firm’s business may keep me 

II 


©li^a&etft Ctattc 


longer than I expect. May I write you, say, once a 
week ?” 

“As often as you like, Herbert. I will be glad to 
hear from you, you may be sure.” 

“Then good night and good bye until I see you 
again, dear Elizabeth.” 

“Good bye, dear Herbert,” and he was gone. . 

She stood listening to his footsteps, the firm, light 
tread, as he walked down the street, then turning, 
went into the house. 

There had been an unseen witness to this tender 
parting. Weston Sibley came from behind the tree 
where he had been standing unobserved. His counte- 
nance was livid with rage. 

“So this is the way the wind blows, is it? He is 
going to ask you a question, is he? Whatever the 
answer may be, I swear by the God who made me, 
he shall not have you. You shall be mine! Mine! 
Mine!” 

He walked up and down the street for awhile in 
deep thought, almost reeling as he went, so great was 
his agitation and anger. 

At last he struck one open palm with his clenched 
fist and muttered to himself: “I think I see my way 
to thwart this upstart of a Crofton and that demure 
little saint, Elizabeth. I never have been defeated in 
anything I set my heart on, and by Heavens, I don’t 
intend to be in this !” 

Having come to this conclusion he went to his 
home, to the beautiful and stately home that might 
have been so happy but for him. 

In the solitude of his room his active brain — active 
for evil — was at work maturing his plans for the ac- 
complishment of his purpose. 


12 


CHAPTER II. 


WESTON SIBLEY. 

“The thoughts of a youth are long, long thoughts,” 
and it may be added that they are often wrong, wrong 
thoughts, and it was so in this case of Weston Sibley. 

He was an only child, and had been given the best 
education that money and influence could obtain. He 
had been trained in such a manner as to be a credit to 
his father. Nothing was denied him. His slightest 
wish was granted and, to the casual observer, the 
indications were that his father’s ambition of seeing 
him take his place among men as an honored citizen 
would be realized. He completed his studies and re- 
turned home, where he was welcomed by one and all, 
the pride of his parents and friends. All this was 
three years ago. Since then the influences that beset 
the young man with nothing to do except the seeking 
of pleasure, had led him to abandon, slightly at first, 
then more openly, the better training he had received. 
His ability to enter the portals of the select few had 
also enabled him to become the companion of that 
element of society, which though tolerated, was not 
condoned by the people. He now spent the greater 
portion of his time away from home, only coming here 
often enough to keep in touch with the family and 
very close friends of his parents, and also for the pur- 
pose of maintaining a degree of respectability, the de- 
sire for which he could not entirely disregard. 

13 


CUsa&eti) Crane 


More than once had her most intimate friends no- 
ticed a flush of shame pass over the face of Mrs. Sib- 
ley at the accidental mention of her son’s name in con- 
nection with some scandal. It was pitiful to hear her 
champion him should occasion require. 

During the next two weeks while Weston Sibley 
was trying to invent some way to win Elizabeth Crane, 
he was a frequent caller at her home, not only on re- 
ceiving days, but on all other possible occasions he 
presented himself. 

He received little or no encouragement from her to 
his advances, but, on the contrary, her displeasure had 
been shown on several occasions because of his per- 
sistence in calling so often when she wanted to be 
alone. On more than one occasion she had refused 
to see him by pleading a severe headache, or the stress 
of duties in connection with her church work, and 
other little pretenses which seemed shallow enough to 
discourage the most courageous of suitors. 

The very high standing of his family was enough, 
if no other reason could be given, to prevent her 
from refusing outright to see him when he called, 
and as he was made welcome by the other members 
of the family, her likes or dislikes were not of suf- 
ficient weight to bar him. Thus it was that he suc- 
ceeded many times in making himself an unwelcome 
visitor in her presence, as her wits would at times 
fail her when it came to inventing reasons for not 
seeing him. 

His excellent manners and good breeding were 
strong points in his favor and many a girl would have 
been glad to have received his attentions. 

It was on one of these visits that he pressed his suit 
with more vigor than on other occasions. He had 

*4 


©Usa&etf) Crane 


succeeded in getting her consent to stroll in the gar- 
den back of the house, where he led the way to a 
pretty rustic arbor half way down the path. The arbor 
was circular in shape. Two semi-circular seats formed 
part of the arbor, and on one of these he placed his 
companion. He removed his hat and laid it down 
on the bench beside him. 

“Miss Crane,” he said, “I have come here to-day, 
to ask you why you are so antagonistic toward me? 
Why do you refuse to see me on one pretext or an- 
other, and when you do give me that pleasure you 
seem preoccupied? Am I obnoxious to you that you 
treat me this way?” 

“You have no right, Mr. Sibley, to question me in 
this manner. If I am indisposed, and for any reason 
find it inconvenient to see you when you call, what 
right have you to question the sincerity of my rea- 
sons? If this is what you have come to discuss with 
me, I must beg to be excused, for I refuse to be 
questioned,” and she rose from the bench as if to leave 
him. 

“I beg your pardon, Miss Crane. I was simply 
leading up to a point that is very near my heart. 
Won’t you be seated again. I want to ask you to be 
my wife. I love you with all my heart. I have loved 
you since that night when you allowed me the delight- 
ful pleasure of your company on the lawn. My heart 
has yearned for you, as heart never yearned for a 
woman’s love before. That is why I asked you those 
questions. You are very dear to me, Elizabeth; you 
have grown into my life. Tell me, Elizabeth, will you 
be my wife?” 

She had seated herself again when he began to 
speak and waited, with her eyes upon the ground, for 

15 


CU^abetJ) Crane 


him to conclude. Her hands were clasped together, 
and the anger which had shown in her face was fast 
disappearing, and when he had finished all traces of 
it were gone. 

“Mr. Sibley,” she said, “I am very sorry, more 
sorry than I can tell you ; but what you ask of me can 
never be. I do not love you ; need I say more ?” 

“I will teach you to love me. The love I have 
for you surely must beget love. It is not of the 
ordinary kind, it is the love that endures and over- 
comes all obstacles. It is the love that consumes the 
very soul. Can you understand what that sort of 
love means to a man like me? It means the making 
of me or the driving of my very soul to the lowest 
depths of desperation. Do not decide too quickly. 
Think it over, and let me come for my answer to- 
morrow.” 

“No, you must take your answer now. I say 
that it can never be. I am sorry that you insist after 
I have given you my answer.” 

She arose and started towards the opening in the 
arbor that led to the house. He was on his feet in 
an instant and stood in her path. 

“No,” he said between his teeth, “I will not take 
‘no’ for an answer. You shall not leave me thus. You 
must agree to come here with my answer to-morrow, 
and it must be yes instead of ‘no.’ Do you under- 
stand ?” 

“Stand aside sir, and let me pass.” 

“No, I will not let you pass until you have given 
me your word to come here to-morrow. Will you 
promise?” 

“No, I will not. Stand aside.” 

For answer he stepped forward and clasped her in 

16 


Clijfa&eti) Crane 


his arms, and despite her struggles he kissed her 
repeatedly upon the lips. 

'Tor shame, Weston Sibley, to thus force your 
caresses upon a weak and defenseless girl; how dare 
you ?” 

For reply he seated himself on the bench, cool, calm 
and collected. He began to twist his handsome mus- 
tache and smiled cruelly at her agitation. 

"Don’t get excited, my dear girl, you will get used 
to this in time. Come, sit down again and let us talk 
it over. I predict now that we will yet be good 
friends when you know me better.” 

He moved to one side to make room for her to be 
seated near him. She was too angry to speak at 
first and could only stand and stare at him helplessly. 
At last she pointed to the door of the arbor and said : 
"Go r 

He arose and stepped to the door, stopped and 
turned toward her and said : "Miss Crane, I have told 
you of my love and offered you honorable marriage. 
You have refused me and told me to go. I am not 
used to this kind of treatment, and it is the first 
time in my life that I have ever been spurned by one 
of your lovely sex. I give you warning now that 
I will stop at nothing but that I will win you. The 
time will come, and that very soon, when you will 
be glad to go away with me, and that without the for- 
mality of a marriage ceremony. Until that time comes 
I bid you adieu.” 

He lifted his hat from his head, bowed very sar- 
castically, replaced his hat and turned and walked 
calmly up the path and left her. 

When he had reached the street he hurried his 
‘footsteps and made his way to the lobby of the Brooks 

17 


[ 


Clifafietf) Crane 


house. He would watch the people as they passed in 
the street and think. Yes, he must think out some 
scheme, and that very soon. “There is no time to lose, 
for Crofton will soon be back and I should judge, by 
the look on her face the night of the reception, that 
her answer will be to his liking.” 


When Weston Sibley had left her, Elizabeth Crane 
looked after him until he passed from view and then 
sank upon the bench and, with her hands to her 
throbbing temples, began to review the situation as it 
now presented itself to her. The mortification she 
felt, as she recalled the pressure of those kisses upon 
her lips, was acute in the extreme. How dared he, 
and she covered her face with her hands. What should 
she do? How could she tell them that he had kissed 
her? What would they think of her for submitting 
herself to this insult? They would blame her for 
going to the arbor. Would it be wrong to withhold 
the knowledge of those kisses from them ? What good 
would it do to tell of them? None, she was sure. 
They would bring him back and question him before 
her. O, she could not look into his face again after 
what had passed. 

Oh, it was cruel, cruel, and the disgrace she felt 
was a torture to her. No, she would not speak of it, 
she could not, it would burn her lips to speak of it, 
even as those kisses had done, and she took her hand- 
kerchief and wiped her lips that seemed to smart 
yet from the cruel contact. 

What of the terrible threat he had spoken, could 
she disregard it as something impossible? Yes, she 
would take no notice of his words, for they were 
spoken to intimidate her. He can do nothing, he 

18 


©U^afietJ) Crane 


would not dare, and yet he had dared to kiss her, 
why should he stop at anything or fear to do any 
villainy as a revenge upon her. Oh, for the strong 
arm of Herbert Crofton to deal with this scoundrel 
as he deserves. 

She sat in deep thought for a few minutes and 
then rose to her feet and spoke aloud: “I will defy 
him to do his worst and when he shows his hand I 
will find a way to thwart him.” 

Having made this resolution, she went into the 
house and found her mother, and together they dis- 
cussed some matters connected with their church work. 


Weston Sibley sat with his feet on the brass rail 
and soliloquized. Oh, but she was beautiful in her 
anger, and I am more determined than ever to win 
her, and if it is against her will, so be it. She is 
devoted to her church work and spends much time 
and money, I expect, in her system of charity among 
the poor. They seem to have plenty of money. Their 
home is one of the finest in town. I understand Mr. 

Crane is a broker in S , but does that give him a 

sufficient income to live as he appears to live here? 

Ah, perhaps this is a cue to my next move. Let 
me see, I have seen Mrs. Crane in the First National 
bank on at least two different occasions, and I expect 
they bank there. I must see what kind of a balance 
they keep and learn more about the source of their 
income. By Jove, I believe I am on the right track, 
and he slapped his knee in approval. I must go slow 
and not seem too anxious in this matter. Percy 
Allen can tell me all about his bank account. Ah, there 
he goes now, and he arose and tapped lightly on the 

19 


Clifafietl) Crane 


window with his cane and motioned for him to come 
in the hotel. 

“Hello, Percy,” said Sibley, as he went to meet 
him ; “how are things moving with you to-day ?” 

“Just fine and dandy, but I am in a little bit of a 
hurry. What can I do for you ?” 

“Nothing in particular; come in and take a nip with 
me. I guess your time is not so valuable but that 
you can spare a few moments now and then with a 
fellow that has nothing to do. Are you busy at the 
bank these days?” 

“Yes, rather busier than usual, I should say. The 
farmers are getting along first rate with their spring 
work but need money for improved machinery, and 
as the security they offer in the way of crops is of 
the best, we feel quite safe in advancing the funds 
they require. What are you driving at? I don’t see 
you very often.” 

“Just the same as usual, Percy, always on the hunt 
for pleasure and excitement that is out of the ordi- 
nary rut. Does Mr. Crane still bank with you?” 

“Yes, and he keeps about the same amount all the 
time. It does not fluctuate more than a hundred either 
way from ten thousand dollars and has not for five 
years now. Not a bad little nest egg.” 

“I should say not,” as they strolled back to the 
lobby. 

“I must be going, Weston; glad to see you look- 
ing so well,” as he hurried away. 

“So far, so good,” thought Sibley; “ten thousand 
dollars all the time. Now to find out how he makes 

it. I’ll go to S to-morrow, and trust me to learn 

something.” 

With Weston Sibley to think was to act. If the 


20 


OEltsatietfc Ctane 


powers of his active mind had been turned in the 
right direction he might have proven a blessing to 
the community and might have had a leading voice 
in the affairs of the state, but at the outset of his 
career he chose the wrong road, the road that led him 
into the howling wilds of crime and debauchery. 


2 1 


CHAPTER III. 


THE FRAUDULENT DEEDS. 

After reaching S the following day, Weston 

Sibley went at once to the Elliott House intent on con- 
sulting a business directory. Having found it he 
turned and looked for the address of Lyman Crane. 
There it was: President of The Crane Mortgage and 
Loan Co., with offices in the Elm Court building. 
He closed the book and went at once to the office 
on the eighth floor, opened the door and entered. 

“I would like to see Mr. Crane/’ he said to the 
sleepy clerk at the desk. 

“Mr. Crane is very busy just now, attending to his 
morning’s mail. Won’t you be seated, please?” and 
he pointed to a chair just outside the railing. “You 
will not have long to wait.” 

Mr. Sibley seated himself, but not until he had 
reached for and taken four leaflets from a nearby table. 
These consisted of, first, a map of a new plot of 
land that had been divided and subdivided and was 
now offered to the public for sale for home sites. The 
second spoke of the advantages of joining a building 
and loan association. The third told of the large 
profits to be gained by investing in western mort- 
gage loans, and the fourth, a list of properties for 
sale in different parts of the west. 

The one on western-mortgage loans interested him 
the most and he had ample time to read it through 


22 


Crane 


before the clerk indicated that Mr. Crane would see 
him in his private office, the door of which was close 
by his side. 

He arose, placed the leaflets in his pocket and en- 
tered the room designated. Mr. Crane looked up 
and, recognizing his vsitor, arose to greet him. 

“Ah, Mr. Sibley, this is a pleasant surprise. Have 
a chair.” He drew a large easy chair toward his 
desk and after seating himself, asked : “Can I do 
anything for you this morning?” 

“I have come here to-day, Mr. Crane, to make a few 
inquiries in regard to the western mortgage loans 
you have for sale. I have taken a notion to invest 
some money in real estate. If you can show me some 
good propositions, I might invest through your firm.” 

“I have some loans here, Mr. Sibley, that I can as- 
sure you are gilt-edged investments.” And he took 
from a pigeon-hole in his desk a package of deeds. 
“Have you any preference as to locality?” 

“No, Mr. Crane, as I understand it, all parts of the 
west are booming now, and my idea is to let you take 
full charge of this matter; that is, invest the money 
I shall hand over to you as you think best. Kindly go 
over some of those you have in your hand and give 
me a brief synopsis of the details of each.” 

“I understand, Mr. Sibley, the first one here is on 
a farm in Iowa, four hundred and eighty acres, loan 
required five thousand dollars. First mortgage, 
twelve per cent, interest to run ten years, an ex- 
cellent investment, by the way. The next is a ranch 
in Oklahoma, one thousand and forty-eight acres, for 
twelve thousand dollars, first mortgage with twelve 
per cent, interest. This can run six years if desired. 
The next is in a new district of Colorado, four hun- 

23 


<£lt'5a&etj) Crane 


dred and thirty-nine acres, four thousand dollars, sec- 
ond mortgage at ten per cent, interest, five years. 
They are all first-class money makers.” 

“That will do, Mr. Crane, I feel well satisfied that 
you are able to handle this matter for me. Select the 
best you have from the list, the amount not to exceed 
ten thousand dollars, and I will give you a check 
for the amount. I will drop in after luncheon and 
perhaps you will have them ready. We are having 
nice weather now and the farmers are likely to have 
good crops.” 

“Yes, everything looks very promising. Come in 
about two o’clock and I will have the matter arranged.” 

When Mr. Sibley had closed the door after him, 
Mr. Crane resumed his seat at the desk and glanced 
towards the door to make sure it was closed. A smile 
of satisfaction illumined his face as he said in a low 
voice: “That’s easy money. He will never take the 
trouble to go west and investigate these loans. He is 
so busy on the hunt for pleasure that he will forget' 
all about this in two weeks. Yes, he can trust me.” 
And he smothered a chuckle that might, otherwise, 
have been heard by the stenographer in the next room. 

Promptly at two Weston Sibley called for the deeds 
and obtained a receipt for the money paid. 

“The first interest on your loans will be payable 
at this office on October first, in cash,” said Mr. 
Crane as Sibley arose to go. “How is your father 
these days? I don’t see him often.” 

“Oh, he is looking and feeling first-class. The 
slight stroke of apoplexy he had last fall was hard 
on him, but he has rallied from that almost entirely. 
I hope he does not have another; I doubt if he could 
survive it.” 


24 


<£B 1 1 5 a bttb Crane 


“Yes, I suppose his years are against him. Good 
day/’ as Sibley took his leave. 

As soon as Weston Sibley reached his hotel, he 
dropped in an easy chair and drawing the package of 
deeds from his pocket began to scan them critically. 
His knowledge of legal matter enabled him to tell at 
a glance that they were all properly drawn. 

“I will start at once to investigate these loans. I 
do not wish him to know I suspect fraud. If these 
loans are all right it is a good investment. If it is 
a fraud he is in my power and I will win Elizabeth 
with hands down, even against her wishes.” 

His was a familiar figure at the race track where 
he owned three of the fast horses that made record 
runs at the Belmont track and, before starting west, 
he went to look after his horses and leave some di- 
rections with his jockey, whom he could trust abso- 
lutely. 

His favorite horse, Major Whitely, had won for 
his owner during the fall before the handsome sum 
of sixty-five thousand dollars. Sibley’s agent was 
busy, even now, booking the now famous horse for 
the important events that would take place during the 
present summer and fall. Even greater results were 
anticipated in the way of speed and earnings. 

He had refused no less than three very tempting 
offers for the gelding but, as he reasoned to himself, 
“if these men were able to see a big future for the 
horse, why should he not be the gainer as well as 
they ?” 

As these offers had been refused these men had 
tried, one after another, to secure the jockey who had 
helped to make the gelding famous by offering him 
better terms in the way of a salary, together with a 

25 


(Eli'sa&et!) Crane 


percentage of the winnings, but all their efforts in this 
direction were fruitless. He would stand by Sibley 
or fall with him should the gelding fail to make good. 
All the other well known tricks of the profession 
were attempted with the same result — failure. The 
young jockey would not, under any pretext, leave the 
horse or allow any one to come within touching dis- 
tance of him. 

With such an ally to stand guard over his prop- 
erty, Sibley could come and go without fear of his 
interests being jeopardized. 

These matters attended to, Sibley started on his 
tour of investigation. He selected the route he would 
take after leaving Chicago, so that he could cover 
the several stops with as little loss of time as possible. 

His method of making the search was, as he had 
mapped out before starting as follows : Upon reaching 
the locality of the land indicated by the deed, he 
would apply to one of the leading real estate dealers 
and, after paying him a retainer, would request him 
to make the necessary search for the especial piece 
of property described, with carte blanche to make same 
as thorough as possible and render to him, Sibley, 
an affidavit in accordance with his finding. 

He found little need of changing this method in 
any case, and at the end of three weeks he returned 
home, the net result of his extensive search being 
that three of the seven deeds he had bought were 
fraudulent. This being ample to convict Lyman Crane, 
he felt, on the whole, well satisfied with the investiga- 
tion. 

Sibley’s next move on the checker board of his 
scheme to win Elizabeth, led him to New York city. 
On arriving there, he took a cab direct to the Somer- 

26 


GEUsa&etf) Crane 


set building, on lower Broadway. Dismissing the cab, 
he entered the building and ascended on the ele- 
vator to the twelfth floor, then to a door on the right 
of the passage on which was painted in gold letters 
the name of William Howell, Atty. at Law. 

Who has not heard the name of this great lawyer? 
Who cannot recall, with ease, the three or four great 
cases he had been connected with? What powerful 
syndicate is there, that does not know with what re- 
lentless vigor and with what determination, he will 
prosecute the evil doer when once his interest is 
aroused against their oppression? Few, indeed, were 
inclined to stand up even for a short time and face the 
batteries of his rapid fire inquisition. This was the 
man for whom Weston Sibley was looking. 

He entered the outer office and approached the 
desk, at which a clerk was standing, busily engaged 
in adding a column of figures. He held up his hand, 
without looking up, as Sibley was about to speak, to 
indicate silence until he should reach the bottom of 
the column, then looking up, he asked curtly: “What 
can 1 do for you?” 

“I would like to see Mr. Howell.” 

“That is impossible, sir, unless you have an en- 
gagement with him ; if so, let me see the letter.” 

“I have no engagement with him, but .” 

“Excuse me then, sir, I say it is impossible for you 
to see him. I am very busy.” And he turned again 
to his work. 

Sibley stood a moment in thought and looked about 
the office to see if there were other clerks present. 
Seeing none, he put his hand in his pocket and drew 
a greenback from its depths. 

“Look here, my good man,” and he held the bill 

27 


<2U?a&ett) Ctatte 


toward the clerk folded. “Will you have the goodness 
to show my card to Mr. Howell? This is a matter 
of great importance.” He laid his . card on the desk 
before the clerk. 

The clerk picked up the card and glancing at the 
name, stood it behind his ink well. “Mr. Sibley,” he 
said, “you cannot bribe me. Go!” and he pointed 
toward the door. 

Sibley hesitated. The clerk reached for the crank 
of a messenger box by his side on the wall. “I will 
call a policeman in five seconds. “Go !” 

Sibley withdrew at once, but his rage was almost 
beyond his control. He stopped outside the door 
and glared at it, as if he would tear it from its hinges. 

His anger soon changed to chagrin. To think that 
he, the son of Amos Sibley, should be thus rebuffed. 
That he, the petted child of fortune, should have his 
plans frustrated at this important point. Some one 
would suffer for this, he was determined. 

He returned to the street and looked about for a 
cab. Finding none, he boarded a Broadway car, bound 
uptown, and left it at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He 
must think this out again. He had set his heart on 
having the name of this great lawyer on a letter that 
would go to Lyman Crane, but how was he to arrange 
it? He thought of some of his influential friends, but 
he was averse to applying to them, for the reason 
that the matter was one that required secrecy and the 
less spoken of the better. He sat in deep study for 
some time. 

“Why not write it myself? He will not know but 
what it is the genuine. I can mail it here and it 
will accomplish the desired result quite as well. I 
have none of the lawyer’s stationery Ah, I will have 

28 


CU?a&et& Crane 


a few of them struck off by some printer. Just the 
thing, and he chuckled at his own rascality. ‘All is 
fair in love and war.’ ” 

He left the hotel and went to a small job printing 
office he had seen on a side street on a former occa- 
sion and found the proprietor smoking a pipe in a 
dirty office. Evidently, nothing was doing, for not a 
wheel was turning. The man arose and asked, as 
Sibley came in: “What is it to-day ” 

“Just print me a hundred letterheads like this,” 
said Sibley, as he produced a copy in pencil. “Get 
them out in a hurry and here is a five spot for you.” 

“All right, Boss, what size do you want?” And 
he opened a drawer of the desk at which he stood 
and drew from it a few letterheads he used for sam- 
ples. “This is the size most used by lawyers,” as he 
selected one of them. 

“That will do. Hurry up now and make them neat 
and clean,” as he sat down on the chair the other 
had vacated. 

Sibley waited impatiently for the man to finish 
the job. He called to him once with the admonition, 
“Come, move more lively there, my time is worth a 
hundred dollars an hour.” 

At last he came forward with a few samples to show. 
“That’s good ; now give me the rest of them. I have 
only ten minutes more to spare. You have been an 
hour on them already.” 

The man did not wait for him to finish but hastened 
with his work, the result being that Sibley soon left 
the shop and returned to the hotel. 

The planning and writing of the letter that was des- 
tined to work such an important part in the life of 
Mr. Crane and his family was accomplished and mailed 

29 


(Bli^abttb Crane 


at a time that would insure its delivery 
mail the next day. He then boarded 

would take him to S in ample time 

the further details of his plan. 


in the first 
a train that 
to carry out 


SO 


CHAPTER IV. 


LYMAN CRANE. 

It is a well known fact among builders and archi- 
tects that “no structure is stronger than its weakest 
part/’ and it was so with Lyman Crane. He had be- 
come possessed, as so many Americans do, of a wild 
desire to gain money by speculation and by methods 
not strictly in accordance with the laws of unswerving 
honesty. 

Every man will find sometime to his cost that the 
scales of eternal justice are evenly balanced, and it 
was so with him, and any slight deviation from the 
path of rectitude will find its sure recompense. 

Lyman Crane sat at his desk looking over his morn- 
ing’s mail. It was rather bulky to-day, owing to 
extra inducements that had been advertised in “The 
Weekly Agitator.” The stenographer was busy tak- 
ing dictation after dictation. Now and then the 
telephone, in the next room, would ring with apparent 
impatience. Nearly all the letters, as they were 
opened, were found to contain checks of no small de- 
nomination, and when one would appear that was 
larger than the others, a smile of satisfaction would 
pass over the man’s face. He would place it with 
the others, dictate a curt reply of thanks, and pass 
on to the next. 

He finally came to one in a long envelope, which 

3 * 


<£li?a&etj) Ctaitc 


evidently contained something of a legal nature. He 
opened it and read, indifferently at first, but as he 
read on the expression on his face would change ; 
he would shift in his chair and give a glance at the 
girl who did not appear to notice anything extraordi- 
nary in his actions. He read to the end, noted the 
signature and, beginning at the top of the page again, 
read as follows: 

New York City, New York. 

September 7th, 1897^ 

Mr. Lyman Crane, 

S , Mass. 

Dear Sir : — A matter of importance has been 
brought to my attention in regard to certain mortgage 
loans that you have negotiated in the west for a 
client of yours. It appears, from the affidavits at 
hand, that you have received a large sum of money 
to be used as mortgage loans, put the same in the 
bank to your credit and delivered to said client, mort- 
gage deeds to lands that do not exist. 

I will be in your city at the hotel, Sept. 10th, 

at 10 a. m. to make some disposition of this matter. 
Kindly meet me. Trusting that you will be able to 
explain the above to my satisfaction, I am. 

Yours truly, 

William F. Howell, 

Atty. at Law. 

Lyman Crane stared at that name for some time and 
was well aware of the standing of the man with whom 
he must deal. This lawyer had handled with success, 
some of the greatest cases of that time in the New 
York courts. He was aggressive in his demeanor 
and pitiless in his determination to have justice done. 

32 


CUfa&et!) Crane 


If it had been anyone else, Mr. Crane would not 
have given it a second reading. It would have gone 
to the waste basket without an answer, but with that 
name it was different. 

“Who has bungled?” said he to himself. “Who 
has played me false and how much do they know?” 

There was nothing in his letter to indicate the name 
of the client referred to. His mind went over, with 
lightning rapidity, the long list of clients who had sent 
him money, but he was powerless to name even one 
of these who was more likely than the other to be 
the one singled out by the letter. 

He had forgotten the girl at his elbow, and the 
pile of unopened letters on his desk. The one in 
his hand held his attention for over half an hour. It 
would have been longer, had not the girl asked, in 
a feeble voice, if the letter required an answer. He 
gave a start, but recovered himself quickly and re- 
plied: “Yes, take this:” 

S , Mass., Sept. 8th, 1897. 

Mr. William F. Howell, 

New York City. 

Dear Sir : — I cannot understand who can have any 
complaint to make as to my dealings with them, but 
will meet you, as you suggest, at the time and place 
named. 

Yours truly, 

Lyman Crane, 

He folded the lawyer’s letter and placed it in his 
pocketbook. 

“Lose no time,” he said to the girl, “in getting 
this letter posted ; after that, busy yourself with those 
monthly reports until I send for you.” He waited 
impatiently for the girl to finish the letter, then affixed 

33 


<ZEIt'5a&et& Crane 


his signature, and said : “Take it to the post office, and 
hurry.’’ 

When she was gone he gathered up the bundles of 
unopened letters, together with a pile of checks on the 
desk. He carried these to the safe and crowded them 
inside, then opening the cash drawer withdrew a hand- 
ful of bills of large denominations. Rolling them up, 
he placed them in his pocket, changed the combination 
of the lock, making a record of same in his diary. 

He then stepped back from the open safe and put 
his hand to his head as if to quiet his reeling brain, 
gave a hurried look about the room, then back to the 
safe. He stood thus for a few moments, as if trying 
to plan his next move. He evidently was satisfied 
with the plan he had so quickly conceived, for he went 
to the safe, closed the door and tried the new com- 
bination and found it correct. He closed the door 
again, took his hat and top coat from the hook on the 
wall, picked up his hand bag from a nearby table 
and went out into the street through a private en- 
trance and disappeared amid the crowd on Main 
street. 

It was late at night when Sibley arrived in S . 

He went at once to a detective agency that was open 
day and night. He called for the manager and when 
they were seated in his private office, he began by say- 
ing: “Mr. Grant, I want the services of your best 
detective, the best, you understand, and I want him 
by seven o’clock in the morning. Can you arrange 

“Yes.. I have a man who cannot be beaten. His 
record is of the very best, and I can guarantee that 

34 


©U? a Set ft Crane 


he will follow your man to the ends of the earth, 
if you wish it, and not lose him.” 

“Good, that is just the kind of a man I want. Have 
him meet me at the time I mention, at the south- 
west entrance of Elm Court. Do not fail me. How 
shall I know him?” 

“He will be attired in a brown suit, tan oxfords, 
and a slouch hat. He will carry a small bag and a 
walking stick with gold head. You cannot mistake 
him.” 

“All right, here is my card and a retainer,” and 
Sibley handed him a bank note. “Good night.” 

Promptly at seven the next morning Weston Sibley, 
who had been waiting for, at least, ten minutes in 
the shadow of a church, saw his man approach the 
designated entrance to the small park. He stopped 
abruptly and rested his elbow on the top rail of the* 
fence. He drew a morning paper from his pocket 
and, without looking around, began to peruse it.' 
There was no mistaking the man. The description 
was perfect. 

Sibley, without hesitation, left the shadow of the 
church and walked with a rapid step, directly past 
the man without stopping and continued down the 
street, but as he passed him he said, in a low voice: 
“Follow me.” 

The detective leisurely folded his paper and putting 
it back in his pocket followed after his quarry. Sibley 
was, by this time, half a block ahead and walking 
rapidly. He turned north on Main street, taking no 
notice of the detective. He slipped quickly into the 
lobby of the Haines house and through the barber 
shop on the right. He dodged through a side door 
into a passage that led to the smoking room. In- 

35 


Crane 


stead of going there, however, he stepped quickly be- 
hind a low partition and discovered a door that led 
to the street. This he opened and let himself out 
on to a side street. 

Down this he went for half a block and entered 
the open door of a workshop and closed the door. 
There was a torn curtain on this door through which 
he peered. No one was in sight. He looked around 
and saw a door in the back of the shop. Giving 
another hasty look through the window, he made his 
way across the room, and closed it after him. The 
door led to an alley into which he stepped. He fol- 
lowed the alley east until he came to Main street 
again and entering the same hotel seated himself be- 
hind a post near the desk. 

In just two minutes the detective came in the door 
of the hotel and took a seat by Sibley’s side. 

"I think you will do; what is your name please?’’ 

“Wiliam Shaw, at your service.” 

“Glad to know you, Mr. Shaw. I led you a little 
chase to try you out and will explain what I want 
done. We will follow our man together for a time, 
then you will take the scent, so to speak, and fol- 
low him. Communicate with me as often as you 
can, using this secret code, over the Western Union,” 
as he handed him a slip of paper. 

“Here is my card with my address. Any telegram 
you send there will be forwarded. Your quarry is 
Mr. Lyman Crane. Watch out for any change in his 
name and wire me. I will see that you have the right 
man. We will not ride nor walk together. Do you 
understand all that I have said to you?” 

“I do.” 


•36 


CUfalietJ) Ctatte 


'‘Then follow me at a distance; we will not speak 
again.” 

Sibley arose from his chair and went at once to the 
neighborhood of the Elm Court building and entered 
a real estate office where he could have a good view 
of the building across the street. He secured a list 
of real estate that was for sale, and while the manager 
was busy with other work, Sibley was at leisure to 
watch. 

He turned the leaves idly and was finally rewarded 
by seeing Mr. Crane leave the building and make his 
way north on Main street. Promising to come at 
some other time and go over the list, he withdrew. 

He scanned the moving throng until he located the 
figure of Mr. Crane making for the depot. He fol- 
lowed at a safe distance and took a seat in the same 
car, but some distance in the rear. Another familiar 
figure followed and seated himself about midway be- 
tween the two. 

The train soon started and the destination was 
north, just as Sibley had expected. He took a slip 
of paper from his pocket and wrote with a pencil: 
“Quarry has gray suit, derby hat, tan top coat, and is 
six seats ahead on right.” 

He folded this and holding it in his hand arose, 
walked up the aisle to a point opposite the detective 
and stooping appeared to pick up the paper from 
off the floor. 

“I think you dropped this,” he said, as he handed 
the paper to his ally. 

“Thank you,” and Sibley returned to his seat. 

The trip up the river was uneventful. B was 

reached, but Mr. Crane made no move to leave the 
train. Sibley, realizing that his interests were in good 

37 


CH?a&etl) Crane 


hands, decided to discontinue the journey. Taking a 
last look at the two men ahead, he alighted from 
the train and in a moment it was gone. 

This was Thursday, and as Mr. Crane would not 
be expected home until Saturday, Sibley went to his 
home and had a good night’s rest. 


3.8 


CHAPTER V. 


LOST TRAIL. 

When the train bearing Mr. Crane left the station 

at S , on its northern trip, he turned and scanned 

critically, the face of each passenger in the car. In 
doing this he recognized Mr. Sibley, who was busy 
at the moment, looking at the scenery along the river 
front and failed to note the fact that his presence was 
known. He remained in blessed ignorance the rest 
of the journey. 

Mr. Crane was well aware that Sibley had, with 

other passengers left the train at B ; he gained 

this knowledge by means of a small pocket mirror 
that he always carried. He also knew that several 

of the people who had boarded the train at S were 

still on the train as it pulled out of the station. In 
fact he kept a close tab on each one of these, until 
finally only one of the original passengers remained, 
a man with a brown suit and a slouch hat. Was he 
being followed? It looked like it, and yet, perhaps 
not. He would keep his eye on him and endeavor to 
learn. 

At Montpelier the train would stop for ten min- 
utes for the purpose of changing engines. Mr. Crane 
arose, took his belongings and, leaving the train, 
entered the restaurant to get a bite to eat. While 

39 


di^a&etl) Crane 


doing so he looked at the other people at the counter 
through a long mirror that extended along the side 
of the opposite wall. It was only a casual glance, 
but it was enough. The man with the brown suit 
and slouch hat was there, and not ten feet away. 

He finished his lunch and went back to the train, 
entered a coach, two in the rear of the one he had 
occupied before, and seated himself in about the same 
relative position in the car. As the train pulled out 
he again scrutinized the passengers on the car with 
his glass. There was his man, six seats or so in the 
rear. 

Still he was not sure. He would try another scheme 
at the next stop, which would be at St. Albans. In 
the course of two hours the train drew up at the sta- 
tion. He arose as if to leave the car and passed down 
the aisle, taking a seat on the opposite side of the 
car that had been vacated, near the door. With a 
quick glance he observed that the spy, for he was sure 
now, had gotten up also after he passed him and was 
headed for the door, but noting the action of his 
quarry and not suspecting it was a ruse, dropped into 
a seat again and began to study the time table that he 
drew from his pocket. Mr. Crane, being near the 
door, now rose again and slipped out just as the 
train started. It soon gained full speed and disap- 
peared from view. 

It was not until the train was under full headway 
that William Shaw discovered he had been outwitted. 
He at once sprang up and pulled the bell cord vigor- 
ously, a move that the brakeman on the platform of 
the car observed. He at once pulled the same cord to 
go ahead and made his way into the car and up to 
the side of Mr. Shaw. 


40 


dEU^a&ett) Crane 


“What do you mean, sir, by pulling that cord?” 

“I am a detective, and my man has eluded me at 
the station back there. I must get off, and at once. 
Stop the train instantly, or I will do you bodily harm. 
Do you understand?” He lifted the lapel of his coat 
and disclosed his badge. 

Here the conductor of the train, who had noticed 
the pulling of the cord, came up to the angry man and 
demanded to know the cause of the excitement. Mr. 
Shaw explained the situation as hastily as he could 
and the conductor, as was a rule with the company, 
insisted that the detective give him a written state- 
ment before he would stop the train. He produced 
a printed form used for that purpose and stood ready 
with his hand on the cord to stop the train, as soon as 
orders had been complied with. Mr. Shaw was too ex- 
cited to write, or to talk for that matter, but in the 
course of twenty minutes or so from the time he pulled 
the cord he was allowed to leave the train. 

He looked about him in every direction. Not a 
house was in sight. Nothing but wheat and corn fields 
as far as he could see. The corn had been cut, but 
was still standing in shocks and the wheat had also 
been cut, and only the stubble remained. 

The train had gone toward the north. Shaw wanted 
to go in the opposite direction, but how far it was 
to the next town he had no way of knowing. He had 
lost time enough and could not stand here meditating. 

He started walking very rapidly toward the south. 
He was chagrined beyond measure at the manner 
in which he had lost out. He, William Shaw, the 
crack detective of the whole force ! His anger caused 
him to walk faster. He must get to a telegraph sta- 
tion without delay. What would his employers say 

4i 


<EIf5a6et& Craite 


to this? His reputation was ruined unless he found 
his man. 

He had walked for half an hour when he saw ahead 
of him a thin streak of smoke and hurried a little 
faster. Soon he came in sight of a farm house, to 
the right of the railroad. He assumed an easy gait 
and at last came opposite it. What a relief it was to 
get back to civilization again. The sight of a dog 
kennel would have been a welcome sight to him at 
this time. He entered the open gate which hung on 
one rusty hinge, hurried to the door and rapped loudly 
on it. A dog somewhere began to bark, and presently 
came running around the house. At the same time 
the door opened and the woman of the house, with 
anger written on her face, cried: “What are you 
doing? Trying to break the door down?” 

“Don’t be angry, my good woman, I want to get 
to St. Albans as quickly as possible. Have you a 
telephone here?” 

“No; I have not.” 

“Where is your husband?” 

“I have none, he died a year ago.” And the tears 
began to dim her eyes. 

“Have you a man about the place?” 

“Yes, sir, I will call him.” She turned her head 
and called: “Joseph; Oh, I say, Joseph, where are 
you? Well, why didn’t you answer before? Come 
here, I want you.” 

A little old man hobbled forward on one leg and 
a crutch. William Shaw nearly dropped to the ground 
when he saw him. This was too much, and he sat 
down on the edge of the narrow porch and mopped 
his brow, he was so disgusted. 

“Great Scott! Do you call that a m ?” He 

42 


Crane 


checked himself, and continued: “Ah, my good man, 
how far is it to St. Albans?” 

“Twelve miles, I think they call it.” 

“Is there a station nearer?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Have you a horse on the place?” 

“No, sir.” 

“What is the nearest place I can get a horse?” 

“A mile and a half down the track,” and he pointed 
south. 

“Well, I must get it.” And he waited no longer. 
He had lost a good half hour with these people. He 
was too angry to express just what he thought of 
them. 

His feet were beginning to blister from his long 
walk, but he could not stop. It was getting late and 
he had at least three-quarters of a mile to go yet. At 
last he saw dimly in the distance the house and tried 
to arouse strength enough to push on, but it was 
useless. He took a few more faltering steps and 
dropped in his tracks. As he did so, his hand touched 
the metallic rail of the track, he grasped it and 
was soon in a sitting posture on one of the ties. 

He was heartsick from the combination of cir- 
cumstances through which he had passed. Could any- 
thing be worse? Suddenly he was aware of a pe- 
culiar feeling under his hand as it rested on the steel 
rail. He placed his other hand on the rail also. It 
was getting to be more and more distinct each mo- 
ment. Ah, there was a train approaching. He looked 
down the track but could see no headlight and con- 
cluded he must be mistaken. 

He waited a few moments; no, he could not be 
mistaken, something was coming nearer he was sure. 

43 


(ZBlijabctf) Crane 


He looked back of him again and saw, through the fast 
falling twilight, a hand car with two men aboard, 
making in his direction. Here was help at last. He 
took a match and struck it on the rail. They were 
bound to see that light and stop to ascertain the cause. 
He could hear the rumble of the car as it came nearer 
and moved his position so that in case it did not stop, 
he would be out of danger. The car came closer 
and closer and he lit another match and set fire to 
his handkerdiief and waved it. He heard a shout 
and gave an answering shout in return. He waited, 
but not long; presently the car came alongside and 
stopped. 

“What are you doing here at this time of night ?” 

Mr. Shaw again explained the situation in as few 
words as possible and ended by asking: “Can you 
take me on your car and get me to the nearest sta- 
tion? I will pay you well for the service.” 

“Oh, that’s all right, you are welcome to ride if 
we can find a place for you. Can you stand up ?” 

“I think so, let me try.” 

After changing the position of some of the tools on 
the car a place was found on which he could sit fairly 
comfortably under the circumstances. This arranged, 
the section hands resumed their places and the jour- 
ney was continued. 

Only once were they compelled to get off the tracks 
to allow a train to pass, and it was scarcely nine 
o’clock when they came into the station at St. Albans. 
He gave each one of them a crisp five dollar bill. 
They turned their car around and started on their 
homeward journey. 

Mr. Shaw realized the uselessness of continuing 

44 


Cli^abetf) Crane 


the chase to-night, so called a cab and was taken 
to the hotel. 

The next morning, and for the remainder of the 
week, three days, he haunted the hotel lobbies and res- 
taurants in the vain search for his man and for some 
clue that might help him to locate him. 

He could not call upon the police to aid him in 
his search because he had no knowledge of the case 
except that he must keep him in sight. The police 
would have insisted on the reason for his appre- 
hension. Unless he could again pick up the trail un- 
assisted he must wire his employer and acknowledge 
his defeat. This he hated to do. He knew he was 
whipped, but was still in hopes of learning something 
definite as to his whereabouts. He put off the sending 
of the message to Sibley for another two days; then 
this message in the secret code was sent: 

Mr. Weston Sibley: — 

Have lost the trail. Will stay here in hopes of 
picking it up. Wire instructions. 

William Shaw. 


Hotel A- 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE ALTERNATIVE. 

Weston Sibley was up early the next morning, after 
seeing that Lyman Crane was in good hands. He 
felt the greatest confidence in the young detective 
and considered himself fortunate in securing so good 
a man for the purpose. He need lose no time now 
in writing the letter to Mrs. Crane. He must indeed 
strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. He took 
a seat at his father’s desk and wrote the following 
letter : 

Mrs. Lyman Crane, 

Dear Madam : — The writer craves the pleasure of a 
short conversation with you on a matter of great- 
est importance. You cannot afford to disregard this. 
Please answer by bearer of this note. 

Yours truly, 

Weston Sibley. 

He went to the telephone and called for a Western 
Union messenger boy to come at once. In twenty 
minutes the boy came and was given the letter with! 
instructions to wait for an answer. 

The servant who answered the bell at the Crane 
home, took the note and went to the sewing room 
where Mrs. Crane was busy with some fancy work; 
handing it to her, she said: “The boy wants an an- 

46 


CU^abetfr Crane 


swer.” She glanced at the envelope and, tearing it 
open, read the contents. She dismissed the servant 
by saying: “Tell the boy to wait.” 

After the door was closed she read the note again. 
What could it mean ? How dared he write to her and 
demand an interview ; what could they have in com- 
mon ? Had this anything to do with Elizabeth ? There 
was no answer in the note to any of these questions. 
“You cannot afford to disregard this.” There seemed 
to be no alternative. She arose, went to the writing 
desk and penned this note: 

Mr. Weston Sibley, 

Sir : — If you must see me, come at once. 

Mrs. Crane. 

Placing this in an envelope, she rang for the serv- 
ant, who gave it to the messenger boy. 

In less than half an hour Mr. Sibley was announced. 
He bowed profoundly as he entered the room and 
placed his hat on a chair, then advanced towards Mrs. 
Crane and held out his hand. She did not take it, 
but pointing to a chair, asked him to be seated. 

“Mr. Sibley, please let me know at once the nature 
of your business with me.” 

“I have some news of great importance, and it 
will remain with you to determine if it is good or 
bad. It is a long story, but I will endeavor to make 
it as brief as possible. 

“I will begin by asking you if you are aware of 
the nature of your husband’s business in S ?” 

“My husband’s business ? Mr. Sibley, how can you 
ask me that question?” 

“Because I am inclined to believe that you do not. 
You know that he is a broker, but the kind of business 

47 


CH?a6etJ) Crane 


he transacts, I believe is beyond your knowledge. Am 
I not right ?” 

“Yes, but go ahead, has anything happened to 
him?” She was very much excited. “What do you 
know? Tell me.” 

“Your husband has been doing an illegal business. 
He has been found out and warned to make answer 
to the charge of fraud, and daring not to do this has 
disappeared. You need not take my word for this; 

telegraph to his office in S and learn the truth 

of my assertion.” 

Mrs. Crane leaned forward in her chair as if to rise, 
but sank back again, indignant surprise overpowering 
her. 

“Oh, Mr. Sibley, are you quite sure of this? You 
surely would not come here and tell me these things 
if you were not positive. My husband dishonest? Oh, 
it cannot be true,” and she pressed her hands to her 
temples. “Go on, tell me what you mean.” 

“As I said before, it is a long story. If you would 
like to hear it I must go back to the night of your 
daughter’s debut. Shall I tell it?” 

“Yes, I will listen.” 

“I first met your daughter on that night, formally, 
although I had seen her grow up from childhood and 
had taken but little notice of her beauty and charms. 
The pleasure was mine to have my name on her 
program and during the interval after my waltz with 
her, which we spent on the lawn, I learned to love 
her as no woman was ever loved before. You allowed 
me the privilege of paying attention to her, but I 
received little or no encouragement from her. 

“I came here one afternoon and after trying to 
learn why she seemed to avoid me, I asked her to 

48 


(Bli^abttb Crane 


be my wife. She refused my hand and, in desperation, 
I drew her in my arms and kissed her. Perhaps 
she has told you what followed. 

“The next day I called upon your husband and asked 
him to invest $10,000 for me in western farm loans. 
He did so. A little later I went west to investigate 
the loans and after three weeks I learned, and have 
affidavits to prove, that three of the deeds were to 
lands that do not exist. When I returned I caused to 
be written a letter asking him to make answer to the 
charges of fraud and, fearing he would disappear 
rather than face the charges, I placed a man to 
watch and follow him. Mr. Crane disappeared yes- 
terday, but I am in a position to bring him back and 
drop all charges against him on one condition.” 

“The condition, Mr. Sibley?” 

“On the promise that your daughter will become 
my wife the day I bring him home, not before.” 

“And if she refuses?” 

“Mrs. Crane, I beg of you, not to insist upon my 
alternative. Spare yourself that pain, I entreat you.” 

“You should know that I cannot force my daughter 
to marry you against her inclination.” 

“No, you cannot do that, nor would I have you. 
But you can use your influence. Tell her whatever 
part of my story you think best. She loves her father 
dearly and if he comes back as a result of her promise 
to marry me, he will be as free from censure and 
criticism among those who know him as ever. He 
will not know unless you wish to tell him, that his 
son-in-law was the cause of his going away.. 

“He need not know that you know of it. I will 
simply get a letter to him saying the charges have 
been dropped. Can anything be simpler? Do what 

49 


©Usa&etfi Ctatte 


you can with your influence and when you have re- 
ceived her promise to marry me, let me know and 
I will come and ask for her answer, or if she pre- 
fers, have her write me, in substance like this/’ and 
he produced a copy he had written at home while 
waiting for her summons: 

Mr. Weston Sibley, 

City, 

Dear Sir: — On condition that you are the means 
of getting my father to return to his home and family, 
and that all affidavits and proofs that you may have 
at the time of his wrongdoing will be surrendered 
into my hands, I will on that day, or as soon after 
as you wish it, become your wife. 

(Signed) . 

“Have I your word, Mrs. Crane, to do what you 
can for me ?” 

“I cannot say now, but will think it over. I be- 
lieve you have taken an unfair advantage of the 
situation and that will weigh in my decision against 
you. Give me two days before you do anything.” 

“A week if you wish it.” 

“Two days will answer. You may go now.” 

After he was gone Mrs. Crane sat in a deep study, 
going over word for word all that had been said. 
Perhaps her husband had not gone away, but this 
could be easily verified by sending a telegram. Yes, 
she would take his word for it, and touching the bell 
she told the servant to find Elizabeth and tell her that 
her mother would like to see her. 

Elizabeth was in her room reading a book, but 
dropped it when the message was given her and went 
to her mother without delay. 

5 ° 


gElifabeti) Crane 


“Oh, mother,” she cried as she came into the room, 
and placing her arms around her mother’s neck and 
kissed her, “Maude said you wished to see me.” 

“Yes, Elizabeth. Something terrible has happened 
and I want to talk it over with you. Do you love 
your father?” 

“Why, mother, what a question to ask me. You 
know that I love him, and that I would do anything 
on earth for him if it were required of me. That is 
how I love him. But why do you ask?” 

“I have a strong reason for asking the question, 
my daughter. I know you love him, for I have seen 
it in a thousand different ways, but I am afraid your 
love will be put to a more severe test than you suspect, 
when you say you will do anything on earth for him.” 

“I mean it, dear mother, every word. What has 
happened? You have not told me.” 

“My child,” she cried, “listen to this story and then 
may Heaven help you to decide wisely and justly.” 
And she told her, falteringly at first, then more readily, 
the story Weston Sibley had recited. She left out 
no part of the story, for it was a question that this 
girl must decide for herself. Everything depended on 
her decision. 

The conditions were imperative. No alternative was 
mentioned, but that fact had no weight. There was 
no need to question what would take place if the 
offer was rejected. Both were crying when at last 
the whole story was repeated and during the next 
five minutes not a word was spoken between them. 

“Mother,” said Elizabeth, “I have said I would do 
anything on earth for my father and I will. And al- 
though Weston Sibley warned me he would stop at 
nothing to make me marry him, I felt sure that he 

51 


©Ufa&et!) Ctatte 


would not dare, but he has kept his word. Oh, cruel, 
cruel man that he is. I must save my father, no 
difference at what cost to myself. Yes, mother, I 
will marry this man and God help me, and us.” 

“My child, consider well the other side of the mat- 
ter. Will you ever be happy with him?” 

“Hush, mother dear, I will not consider that ques- 
tion. You know my heart was given to Herbert 
Crofton, and I was expecting to see him to-day. He 
has returned from his business trip, but now it will 
be useless for him to come, as I will not consider 
myself. My father is in danger and his safety must 
be my first consideration. Bitter as the alternative is 
I will marry him. 

“I cannot see my father before a court of justice. 
He must come back able to look his friends in the 
face in the same manner that he has always done. He 
must never know that we are aware of the awful 
chasm that stood there, ready to swallow him up, nor 
that it was Weston Sibley who stood ready to push 
him in. My mind is made up.” She took up the paper 
that Weston Sibley had left and began to read it 
over again. 

At that moment the door bell rang and after a short 
interval the servant announced Herbert Crofton. 

Elizabeth crushed the paper in her hand and stared 
before her with a look that frightened her mother. 
Recovering herself instantly, she said: “I will go and 
see him. Poor boy, this will break his heart.” She 
broke into tears again as she fell on her mother’s 
neck. After a moment, she stood up and brushed 
away the tears and advanced to the door of the sit- 
ting room and opened it. 


52 


CHAPTER VII. 


LOST HOPE. 

Herbert Crofton walked up the flower bordered path 
that led to the front entrance of Mr. Crane’s com- 
fortable and even elegant home. It was evening in 
the early fall, the leaves were falling from the beau- 
tiful maples and formed a carpet of many colors over 
the wide lawn. His step, like his heart, was light, and 
as he walked he unconsciously repeated a well-known 
couplet : 


“He hitched his wagon to a star, 

And swept the kindling skies.” 

Yes, the skies were very bright above him and 
with Elizabeth beside him to encourage and inspire, 
he felt that there were no heights to which he could 
not climb. 

The business trip from which he had just returned 
had been a very successful one both to his firm and 
himself, the duties had been attended to with the 
greatest skill and dispatch. He now felt that he had 
a right to think seriously of having a home of his 
own. His heart beat fast in anticipation of the great 
joy in store for him when he would tell Elizabeth 
of his love for her and his ambition for the future. 
He had hinted of this before, but now he was to tell 
her how much she was to him. He had little doubt 

53 


C li^abttb Crane 


what the answer would be, but the joy of it would be 
in hearing those sweet lips say : “I love you, Herbert, 
with all my heart and I will be your wife.” He 
stepped upon the porch and lightly pressed the button 
that would summon her to his side. He waited for 
what seemed to him an age before he, at last, heard 
footsteps approaching. The servant opened the door 
and, as was his custom, he walked into the sitting 
room while he was announced. When Elizabeth 
Crane made her appearance in the doorway he saw 
a face, which although familiar to him, was as he 
had never seen it before. It was indeed Elizabeth. 
Her eyes were red and swollen as though she had 
been weeping. In her hand she held a crushed paper 
which she tried to conceal in the folds of her dress. 
In an instant he caught her hand in his and cried: 
“Oh, Elizabeth, what has happened to bring tears into 
those dear eyes of yours? Come, tell me all. You 
have no right to withhold anything from me, for we 
have been playmates so long and you have never had 
a care that I was not able and anxious to share with 
you.’' 

She would have withdrawn her hands from his but 
he held them as in a vise. 

“No, Herbert,” she said, “you must not ask me; I 
cannot tell you. Something has happened, but I must 
bear it alone. You cannot help me, much as I know 
you would like to. Oh, Herbert, do not make it 
harder for me by your entreaties, for this is some- 
thing I must work out alone. If you really care to 
help me, and I know you do, you can do so best by 
not trying to investigate further. Oh, why was I ever 
born !” and she again burst into tears. Herbert re- 
leased her hand and said, after placing her in a chair : 

54 


©It'sabetf) Crane 


“Now, dear Elizabeth, listen to me. I came here to 
tell you what has been on my mind for years.” 

He took her hand again and, holding it in his own, 
continued: “I love you with all my heart and want 
you to be my wife. Say that you will love me in 
return, and I will have the right to help you in 
this, your great trouble, for I see it is greater than 
you will be able to bear alone. Speak, for my heart 
is burning to hear you say those dear words.” 

“Hush, Herbert, you must not speak so. I cannot 
listen to you, for I am already engaged to another. 
You must not seek to learn more.” She arose from 
her chair and stood facing him, an image of despair. 
“All is over between us, and if you ever had the least 
regard for me, you will go away and never try to 
see me again. Oh, I know my heart will break, but 
nothing you can say will change the situation in the 
least. So go away, my good friend, and let me feel 
that you have respected my wishes in this, my time 
of trouble.” 

He arose also, and stood before her as if stupefied. 
Unable to move or speak at first, for it seemed to 
him that her words had, indeed, struck him dumb. He 
was dazed, and staggered toward the door, keeping 
his eyes on her the while. At the door he paused and, 
with a mighty effort regained his speech. 

“Elizabeth Crane,” he said, “your words are indeed 
strange. You must have known that I loved you and 
now you tell me that you are engaged to marry an- 
other.” 

Elizabeth went to him and, lifting her white arms, 
clasped them about his neck. Unshed tears were 
standing in her eyes and a look of supplication was 
outlined in every feature of her beautiful face. 

55 


CUsafietl) Crane 


'‘Dear Herbert, I knew that you loved me and I have 
loved you for a long time and never better than in 
this hour of parting, but I can never be your wife. 
Let this be our good bye, but before we part, promise 
me by the love you have for me, by the happy future 
we had hoped to share together and by your honor 
as a man that you will not try to learn anything 
concerning this unfortunate circumstance that has 
come to me and mine.” 

He stood still, too surprised and overwhelmed to 
answer. 

“Promise, Herbert, by your hope of Heaven, prom- 
ise me this, will you?” 

“Yes, Elizabeth, I promise, I will respect your 
wishes by not trying to fathom this deep mystery, 
which doesn’t seem fair to me, although you know 
best and I will go away. If, in after years, you should 
wish to see me, and will send me word, no difference 
where I am or what I am doing, I will come to you. 
Will you promise to send for me if such a time shall 
come ?” 

“Yes, Herbert, I will promise what you ask. If 
you feel that you must give up your good position 
and go far away, I will pray to God to help you to 
forget me. This sorrow that has befallen us and 
changed our plans for the future, is something over 
which I have no control. Seek not to learn the truth 
and you will make it easier for me. Good bye and 
may He guide you is my earnest wish.” And she held 
out her hand for him to take, which he did and 
pressed it to his lips, once, twice and with a last look 
at her sad face he was gone, with all his bright hopes 
for the future dispelled, his star fallen to earth. 

When Herbert Crofton was gone she returned to 

56 


<Sli?a6etfj Ctatte 


her mother’s side and in despair cried: “What have I 
done, oh, what have I done?” Then going to her 
room and throwing herself on the bed she wept. The 
sobs that shook her slight frame were heart rending. 

Mrs. Crane followed her after a little time and, 
sitting on the edge of the bed, endeavored to console 
her, but with no avail; she must have her cry out or 
go mad. 

The mother was half distracted with the anguish she 
felt for her husband and child and cried: “Oh, my 
darling, you shall not sacrifice your young life for the 
folly of your father. It must not be. I will call him 
back, for your young love belongs to him. It is a 
crime to break two hearts so ruthlessly, that he, who 
is your father, may be spared the disgrace he has 
brought upon himself, and us.” 

“Mother, you must not say that. You have no 
right, he is your husband and my father, and I love 
him. Do you understand ? I will not turn back now, 
let come what may. He shall be spared,” and she 
placed her hand on her mother’s lips to prevent her 
from saying more. 

“I was sure that Herbert loved me, even as I love 
him, and I have driven him away. God help me,” 
and she buried her face in the pillows to smother 
the sobs that began to rack her heart. 

As soon as she was calm again, she sat up and 
throwing her arms about her mother’s neck 
kissed her again and again and then said : “Come, 
mother dear, we will go down and write the letter to- 
gether. I am all right now,” and the brave smile that 
overspread her face was an inspiration. 

“Wait, Elizabeth, do not write to-day. I must go 
to S and look out for your father’s affairs and 

57 


CU?atietl) Crane 


learn what I can. I fully believe that he has gone 
away, but there may be a chance that matters are 
not so bad as they look. Would you like to go with 
me?” 

“Yes, mother, it will be a diversion, and I would 
go insane if left behind.” 

“Then we will go to-morrow morning ; we can catch 
the seven-thirty train, I think, and if necessary, spend 
the day.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE COUNTERPLOT. 

It was nearly eleven o’clock when they entered Mr. 
Crane’s office. Mrs. Crane was a comparative stranger 
to the clerks there, it having been at least two years 
since she hafl visited it. 

On making herself known, she asked for Mr. Crane, 
feeling sure what the reply would be, and then for 
Mr. Simms, the head clerk. 

She was shown into his office and asked, after they 
were seated: “Have you any knowledge as to Mr. 
Crane’s movements? I was told yesterday that he 
had disappeared and came at once to learn, if possible, 
if he had left any word with you.” 

“No, Mrs. Crane, not a word. He was answering 
his mail yesterday morning and, as his stenographer 
told me, after we had discovered he had gone, on 
opening one of the letters which appeared to be a 
legal document of some kind, he sat in a deep study 
for half an hour or more, then dictated a letter in 
reply, of which this is a copy,” he took from his 
desk a letter and allowed her to read it, “and insisted 
that she, the stenographer, take it herself to the post 
office, which she did. 

“Upon her return, he was gone. The unanswered 
letters on his desk were missing and the combination 
of the safe had been changed. That is all we know.” 

59 


Crane 


“Do you know what became of the letter he re- 
ceived, the one to which this is a reply ?” 

“No, although I looked for it on his desk. He 
may have it with him, or he may have placed it in the 
safe.” 

“Allow me to look in his office and perhaps I may 
discover something that will give us some light.” 

He led the way and Mrs. Crane went at once to 
the desk and examined the papers and other things 
she saw there. “Is not this the envelope? I see it 
is post-marked ‘New York’.” 

“I expect it is, although I am not sure. I will 
ask the girl. She may have seen him open it and 
remember.” He touched a bell and in an instant the 
girl made her appearance and started back, on seeing 
the ladies present. “Miss Bates, can you tell me if 
this is the envelope that contained the letter that 
seemed to trouble Mr. Crane?” 

“Yes, Mr. Simms, that is the one. He threw it 
in the waste basket there and I intended to call your 
attention to it.” 

“I will keep it,” said Mrs. Crane, “it may and may 
not be of use to me. Now for the safe; can you not 
open it, Mr. Simms?” 

“No, it can be opened only by an expert.” 

“Miss Bates, did my husband put that particular let- 
ter in his pocket?” 

“I think he did, but I am not sure of it, and I would 
not like to swear to it. He took his pocketbook from 
his pocket, but I did not notice anything further than 
that.” 

“We will not open the safe now,” said Mrs. Crane, 
“but we will come in at nine in the morning and see 
if anything new has developed. Say nothing about 

60 


CIi?a6ctf) Crane 


this nor allow any one here to speak of it outside. 
The utmost secrecy must be observed, do you under- 
stand ?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Crane, your word shall be obeyed.” 

“Mrs. Crane,” said Mr. Simms, the next day when 
she made her appearance, “I have a letter here from 
New York. I think it is in reply to Mr. Crane’s let- 
ter that you have seen. Will you open it? It is in one 
of the lawyer’s own envelopes.” 

“Yes,” as she held her hand to take it; she then 
read it aloud : 

Mr. Lyman Crane, 

S , Mass. 

Dear Sir : — Yours of September 8th at hand, refer- 
ring to an appointment. I know of no such an ap- 
pointment nor of any complaint as to your dealings. 

Some one has evidently forged my name. If you 
will have the kindness to give me the particulars of 
the matter, I will do everything in my power to bring 
the forger to justice. 

Yours truly, 

William F. Howell, 
Atty. at Law. 

A smile of satisfaction was noticeable on the face 
of Mrs. Crane as she read the letter and when she had 
finished she turned and gave Elizabeth a smile that 
was instantly reflected. 

“This letter is of the greatest importance; it has 
opened my eyes. I will dictate a reply if you will 
call the stenographer.” The bell tinkled and the girl 
came into the room. 

“Your note-book please,” said Mr. Simms, ‘Mrs. 

61 


Crane 


Crane has a letter for you.” When she returned, 
he motioned to a chair by the side of Mrs. Crane, who 
commenced : 


S , Mass., Sept, ioth, 1897. 

Mr. William F. Howell, 

New York City. 

Dear Sir: — In the absence of my husband I have 
opened your letter of yesterday. You have lifted a 
burden from my heart. The letter my husband re- 
ceived, the answer to which you have, I think is in 
his possession and was the cause of his absence. As 
soon as he returns I will take advantage of your offer 
and explain the particulars. Trusting it may be soon, 
I am, 

Yours truly, 

Mrs. Lyman Crane. 

“You will, of course, Mr. Simms, lose no time in 
getting that letter posted and save a copy. You will 
remain in charge here and attend to the correspond- 
ence which Mr. Crane has been in the habit of look- 
ing after. I will see you again next week. Keep me 
in touch with any new developments. 

“Come, Elizabeth, we will return home.” 

As they sat in the station, each was thinking of the 
peculiar turn of affairs. The question of marrying 
Weston Sibley was not to be considered. How to man- 
age him until the husband and father's return was im- 
portant, but the keeping of the matter out of the 
papers was more so. To reject him outright would 
be awkward, for he would lose no time in getting it 
noised about that Mr. Crane was a fugitive from 

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dEU^abetl) Ctatte 


justice. This was enough to cause them everlasting 
disgrace. 

“Elizabeth, this matter calls for a very clever dis- 
play of strategy on our part. Can you not think 
of some way to keep him quiet until your father shall 
return home? My brain is in such a whirl that all I 
can see before me is disgrace. That and nothing 
more.” 

“You are right, mother, it is a case of diamond 
cut diamond. We must beat him at his own game. He 
has made himself amenable to the law by forging Mr. 
Howell’s name, but we are at present unable to prove 
it. If we had that letter, it would be easy, but as it is, 
strategy is the only thing we have to fall back on. 
I think I have a scheme that offers some, if not all, the 
strategy necessary. Of course, I have no intention 
of marrying Mr. Sibley after what has been discov- 
ered, but I cannot tell him so. I must lead him to 
believe that I am willing to do so under certain con- 
ditions. These must be worded so as not to arouse 
his suspicion of my real intention, but strong enough 
for me to withdraw should occasion require. 

“There is one other thing,” said Elizabeth, “I would 
like to accomplish to strengthen our case against this 
man and that is, to secure, in his own handwriting, 
the name of William F. Howell. If this can be done 
you can readily see how it can be compared with the 
signature on the letter in father’s possession. It will 
make our case almost complete. If it is true that 
he has my father under surveillance, he will without 
doubt produce him at once and then demand his re- 
ward. We could not then procure the handwriting, 
and it might be difficult to prove that he wrote the 

63 


©Ufafiet!) Ctaite 


other. Can we not, by a cunningly worded letter, get 
this taken care of first?” 

“I think we can, my daughter, but here is our 
train. I will try and think it out as we go home. Your 
scheme looks good and I can see no reason why it 
cannot be worked out to our advantage.” 

They took their seats in the car and the journey 
began. Little was said by either one, as they con- 
sidered it unwise to discuss this, the subject nearest 
their hearts while in so public a place. 

Upon arriving at home and repairing to the favorite 
seclusion of the sewing room, Mrs. Crane declared 
that she believed she had a plan for securing a speci- 
men of Weston Sibley’s handwriting. 

“Your Uncle George, who was here three weeks 
ago, was telling me about some gold mining stocks 
he had invested in about two years ago. He said 
the understanding was when he bought the stock that 
the dividends would begin on the first of this year. 
When the time arrived, however, the dividends did 
not materialize and all efforts he had made since, now 
nearly nine months, had been of no avail. 

“The mining company has offices in New York 
and he has made a number of trips to that city in the 
attempt to realize on the stock. With one excuse and 
another, the people put him off with the result men- 
tioned. 

“He told me that if he could get hold of a good 
lawyer in New York to take the case he would place 
the matter in his hands. His confidence in these 
prominent lawyers had been shaken by the actions of a 
few whose reputations had suffered by be- 
ing disbarred from practicing in the courts. As a con- 
sequence he had fought shy of them as a whole. 

64 


Clifa&etf) Crane 


“Now I believe this William F. Howell is just the 
man who can straighten out the matter, and I think 
Mr. Sibley would be glad to recommend him in writ- 
ing if he thought it would help his case with you. 

“Good, mother, I knew you would find a way; go 
on.” 

“My plan is this : I will write him a note telling 
him of your probable intentions and that he will hear 
from you ; but let me write the letter, which you can 
see,” and she went to her desk followed by Elizabeth 
and wrote as follows : 

B , Vermont, Sept, ioth, 1897. 

Mr. Weston Sibley, 

Sir: — Since you were here yesterday it seems to 
me I have lived at least ten years, so hard has it been 
to bring myself to look with favor upon the condition 
you named, but the loss of a husband and father 
has at last overcome the resentment which has ex- 
isted. It is my daughter’s intention to write you a 
letter, early next week, in substance, like the copy 
you furnished. I am writing this because I told you 
that two days would be sufficient for her to make 
the decision, and for the further reason that as a fre- 
quent visitor to the city of New York, you could if you 
would, be able to recommend a good, strong lawyer or 
two to take charge of an important case. 

“My brother, George, who was here three weeks 
ago, wants the very best and most aggressive lawyer 
in New York to prosecute the manager of a bogus 
gold mine company. If you would have the kindness 
to do this for me you would do us both a great favor. 
He is a little prejudiced against lawyers as a whole, 
but would place the case with one that was well recom- 

65 


Clifabetf) Crane 


mended to him. His address is George Dale, Rutland. 
You may mention my name if you write and send him 
the names of at least three of the greatest lawyers of 
that city. 

Yours respectfully, 

Mrs. Lyman Crane. 

“Now for a letter to George.” 

Dear Brother George: — Just a short letter to say 
that one Weston Sibley of this city will send you the 
names and addresses of three of the best lawyers in 
New York City, any one of whom will be well quali- 
fied to take charge of your suit against the mining 
company. Please copy the names and send me the 
letter as soon as you receive it. I will explain in 
another letter my reasons. 

In great haste, 

Your sister, Annie. 

As it was Saturday evening Mrs. Crane sent the 
letter addressed to Sibley by a messenger boy, the 
other to the post office. 


66 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE FALSE TRAIL. 

Weston Sibley was still in town awaiting news from 
the detective and the boy caught him just as he was 
leaving his father’s home. He snatched the letter, 
thinking it was the one he had been expecting from 
Elizabeth Crane, and as the boy started away he called 
him back with the thought of sending an answer if one 
should be required. 

He tore it open and read it through. The anxiety 
that was displayed on his face at first soon cleared 
away, and in its place there came a smile of satisfac- 
tion. He drew a coin from his pocket and threw it 
to the boy with an order to wait ten minutes and take 
an answer. He re-entered the house and going to the 
desk, wrote this: 

Dear Mrs. Crane : — I thank you sincerely for what 
you have done. Give my regards to Miss Crane. I 
will await with impatience the note from her. 

What you ask, I am only too glad to do for you. 
The letter to your brother will go out to-night. 
Thanking you again, I am, 

Yours truly, 

Weston Sibley. 

After sealing this and handing it to the boy, he re- 
turned and wrote: 


€li'5a6ctft Ctaite 


Mr. George Dale, 

Dear Sir: — Your sister, Mrs. Lyman Crane, has 
asked me to send you the names of, in my opinion, 
the very best lawyers in New York City. 

Any one of these is sure to give you good service 
in your suit against the mining company: 

William F. 

He hesitated. Why should he pick this man out, 
to recommend him for more business? They had 
kicked him out of the office only a few days ago and 
the smart was not all gone yet. No, he would begin 
another letter. This would pay for the insult, the 
chagrin and the mortification he suffered. He took 
another sheet of paper and began again, and yet, 
why should he be angry with anybody? Had he not 
won the day? Was not this enough satisfaction with- 
out this other? She had asked for the best, and he 
would give it to her. He cast aside the new sheet, 
and took up the other, and continued, 

William F. Howell, 

Charles T. Clarkson, 

George B. Slattery. 

Trusting that one of these may be to your liking, 
I am, Very truly yours, 

Weston Sibley. 

This letter he dropped in the office on his way 
down town. 

Mrs. Crane and her daughter were overjoyed at the 
success of their ruse, and, although they would not 
know until Tuesday, whether he had given the name 
hoped for, they had at least gained three or four more 
days’ time. 


68 


CU ? a bctf) Crane 


Tuesday came, and with it the letter from George 
Dale. Mrs. Crane and Elizabeth could have cried for 
joy as they beheld the coveted name of the distin- 
guished lawyer, and below it, at the bottom of the 
letter, the signature of their victim, Weston Sibley. 

“Oh, mother, we hold the whip hand now. Let 
him strike if he dares,” and she threw her arms about 
her mother’s neck, and despite her struggles, danced 
her about the room. 


Weston Sibley was getting very impatient for the 
telegram that should come from his ally. The lack 
of news was fast bringing him to a point of despera- 
tion. What on earth could he be doing? This was 
Thursday, and it was Friday when he left him on the 
trail. Something must be wrong, or why this delay ? He 
was now marching up and down the porch, in front 
of his father’s home, consumed with anger. He 
stopped abruptly in his mad walk as a boy jumped 
from his wheel and ran up the walk. Sibley met him 
and tore the message from his hand. The boy held 
the book for him to sign his name, but he brushed him 
aside, tearing open the envelope at the same time. 

“Begone, boy ; here, stop ! When did this message 
come ?” 

“Only five minutes ago. Won’t you sign, sir?” 

“No, get out. Oh, the fool detective, the fool,” as 
the boy edged toward the gate. “Come here; I’ll 
sign. Oh, the fool ! I’ll kill him for this.” And he 
ground his teeth with impotent rage. The boy started 
for the gate again, when Sibley called: “Give me a 
blank, and get this message off quick.” He took the 
blank, and, going to the fence, wrote this in cipher: 

69 


<EU?afietI) Ctaite 


William Shaw : 

Stay where you are. I will come at once. 

W. S. 

“Now, move/’ as he handed the boy a coin. “Of all 
the blundering idiots, that Shaw is the limit/’ 

He entered the house, consulted a time-table north. 
Train at 10:05, no time to spare. He called a cab, and 
by the time it had arrived, he had his grip packed with 
a few essentials. As he came down the stairs, his 
mother met him and asked: “Oh, Weston, what is 
the matter? Where are you going?” 

“Nothing, mother, I am in a hurry,” and was gone. 

The good mother wrung her hands, and cried, “Oh, 
my boy, my boy, what will become of him?” Then, 
sinking into a chair, she wept aloud in her helpless- 
ness. 

The kind old father came out of the living room, 
and finding his wife in tears, pressed her to his heart, 
and tried to soothe her, but her heart was breaking 
for her boy, the only child of their happy union. But, 
oh, what was to become of him? 

They had both witnessed the scene on the porch 
and lawn and knew it was useless to interfere. He 
was slowly but surely, bringing their gray hairs with 
sorrow to their graves. 


“Mother,” said Elizabeth, “I am going to write that 
letter now ; then we will have nothing to worry about, 
except father’s absence, and he is in no personal dan- 
ger. Weston Sibley will write him a letter and he 
will be back here in no time. When I learn where 
Herbert is I will send for him. Oh, won’t he be glad ?” 
And her eyes filled at the thought, but brushing the 

70 


OE It ? a 6 e t & Crane 


tears away quickly she took her place at the desk 
and wrote, using the copy Sibley had left as a guide : 

Weston Sibley, 

Sir : — On condition that you are the means of induc- 
ing my father to return home ; that you surrender into 
my hands on the day of said return, all affidavits 
and proofs you may have of his wrongdoing and 
that you, yourself are free from any crime which 
can be laid at your door, I will, one week there- 
after, or later, as you may wish, become your wife. 

Elizabeth Crane. 

“See, mother, it is not binding. He will overlook the 
fact of the forgery, thinking we will not discover it.” 

“That is good, Elizabeth; I will call a messenger 
boy while you address the envelope.” 

Mrs. Crane disappeared and went to the telephone. 
In ten minutes the boy came and with a final order 
to return it if he could not find young Mr. Sibley. 
He went, only to return in half an hour with the in- 
formation that Mr. Sibley had departed on the train 
and no one knew where he had gone. 


Weston Sibley barely caught the train, as it was 
pulling out of the station and, as he went forward 
to take a seat in the smoker, he cast a quick eye over 
the passengers with the hope of recognizing the gray 
suit and derby hat Mr. Crane had worn, but it was 
not to be seen. He made it a point to leave the train 
at each stop of any length and to scrutinize the 
men in and around the station. 

Shortly after the train pulled out of Hartford, the 
conductor came through the car and called the name 
of Weston Sibley. The owner reached for and hur- 

71 


<2*lt?aibet& Crane 


riedly devoured the contents of a telegram which 
read as follows: 

“Have picked up the trail, man on south-bound, 
saw him through window, moving train. Unable to 
board ; will take next train.” 

William Shaw.” 

He glanced at the time the message had been sent, 
12:30 P. M., and then at his watch. This told him 
1 : 1 5- “I should pass him at Montpelier or a little 
the other side. I must head him off, or better still, 
endeavor to catch the trail and hold it until the detec- 
tive shall make his appearance.” 

On reaching Montreal Junction, he left the train 
and sought out a pile of trunks on a truck standing 
to the north of the station where, when the south- 
bound train came along, he stood partly concealed 
from view of the passengers as they alighted from 
the train. 

He scanned as critically as possible the passengers 
as they stepped from the several cars and was re- 
warded by seeing a man in a gray suit get off directly 
in front of the station and pass quickly inside. Sibley 
lost no time in following and saw him stepping into 
a cab at the south end of the platform. 

Plere was a chance to show his detective friend 
how to keep the trail and, going to the driver of an- 
other cab, pointed to the first and said: “Keep that 
cab in sight, but get no closer than a block away. 
Do not attract the attention of the occupant by seeming 
to notice it.” 

The first cab drove east and without attempting 
to hurry, arrived in due time at the main station of 

Z 2 


CU^afietj) Ctatte 


Montpelier. The occupant dismissed the cab, entered 
the waiting room and bought a ticket, then walking 
out on the other side entered a waiting east-bound 
train. 

Mr. Sibley, keeping in the background, noticed the 
movement of his quarry in the car and took a seat in 
the rear as before. Several changes of cars were 
made during the next day and when the train reached 
Bangor, Maine, Weston was still on his trail. By a 
chance that could not be avoided by him, he came face 
to face with his man, when he discovered that the man 
was not Mr. Crane, but a total stranger. 

He could not believe his eyes and, retracing his 
steps, repeated the encounter with the same result. 
His disappointment was very keen as he turned about 
and gazed after the man until he was out of sight. 

This was the first of many fruitless trips that he and 
his detective, whom he found by telegraphing to the 

home office in S , undertook during the winter and 

summer following, each one more severe as a disap- 
pointment, if possible than the last. After locating his 
detective and giving him orders to meet him at St. 
Albans, on a certain day to again take up any trail that 
should by chance present itself, he returned home. 

He lost no time in calling up Mrs. Crane on the 
telephone and told her that important business mat- 
ters had taken him away for a few days. He asked 
her if the letter from Miss Crane had been written. 
Receiving an affirmative answer, he begged permis- 
sion to send a boy for it, as he would be obliged to 
leave again on another business trip. Again the reply 
was to his satisfaction and with the assurance that 
this trip would not be of long duration and that he 
would send the boy at once, he bade her good bye. 

73 


<zni?a&ett) Crane 


Thus he received the letter that may or may 
not have afforded him the satisfaction he anticipated. 
But as he was not in a position to force a better one 
he accepted it and continued his search with more or 
less energy. 

Mrs. Crane with her daughter made weekly trips 

to S , and little by little inquired into the nature 

of her husband’s business until at last she was ac- 
quainted with every detail of it. She discovered and 
corrected all the transactions that were of a fraudu- 
lent tendency and soon everything was moving along 
in a strictly legitimate manner and this without any 
of the clerks being aware of it. It called for a con- 
siderable amount of tact to do this and it cut into 
her private fortune, but not a murmur was heard 
from her. 

As time went on, however, the proceeds of a better- 
managed business soon began to reimburse her for the 
sacrifice and she was comparatively happy. The ab- 
sence of husband and father gave them many heart- 
aches which had the effect of bringing them nearer to 
each other. They did not mourn him as dead, but felt 
sure he would return some day. 

As Weston Sibley, who now had the letter, did not 
produce the father, they were sure he had deceived 
them, but as the conditions of the promise were ample 
to protect their interests they did not worry about 
him. 

The existence of that letter stood in the way of 
Elizabeth sending to Herbert Crofton the word she 
otherwise would have done and many a silent cry she 
had had because of her helplessness. Thus the time 
passed, bringing them no tidings, good or bad, of 
the absent ones. 


74 


CHAPTER X. 


BREAKING HOME TIES. 

After leaving the home of Elizabeth Crane, Herbert 
Crofton walked with faltering footsteps toward a 
small park not far from his father’s home and seated 
himself. He must review the situation in its new 
light. His life, his hope and ambition were gone, 
snuffed out as a candle is extinguished. Who was 
this man that had stepped in and taken his very life, 
as it were? He did not know of a rival; of course 
she had admirers, what girl has not? 

He was so sure of his ground that the possibility of 
there being a dangerous rival did not enter his mind. 
It was as a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. He 
thought of all the young men in town who had shown 
the least inclination in her direction and dismissed 
them as quickly, for, while she treated them all with 
the cordiality that was due them, she had shown no 
preference for any one but himself. The unexpected 
had happened. Is life worth the living? He asked 
himself as hundreds have asked before him who have 
had their fondest hopes dispelled. Hardly, he thought, 
and yet perhaps, matters might not be so bad after 
all. He might find that she loved him even yet, enough 
to cause her to give up the other. How could he 
find out? This would mean that he must seek to 
learn the truth and he had given her his word, he 
would not do that. “I will keep my word, I must go 

75 


CU^afietl) Crane 


away, but where?” That was the question that must 
be decided at once. 

Frank Crofton, Herbert’s father, had come to this 
small New England village some fifteen years ago. 
He established himself in the mercantile business and 
prospered to such an extent, that he, his wife and three 
sons were quite comfortable. 

He had given each one of the boys, as they grew 
up, a liberal education and a good business training. 
The two oldest had married and were happy pos- 
sessors of homes of their own. One, Albert, had 
gone to accept a position of responsibility in a large 
western city, and he had exacted a promise from Her- 
bert to make him a visit, as soon as he had com- 
pleted his training. Now as he sat on the bench in 
the park he remembered his promise to visit his brother 
and decided to go at once. With him, to decide was 
to act. He went first to his mother and told her 
briefly of his intended trip and the cause of it. When 
she tried to sympathize with him, he checked her and 
said: 

“Don’t mother, I know just how you feel about it. 
Perhaps it is all for the best. I am young yet and it 
will do me no harm to see a little of the country. I 
will secure a position out there. I will live this down 
and be happy yet,” as he kissed her. He went to his 
room and gathered together the few things he would 
take with him. 

It was a sad parting the next morning when Her- 
bert left the home of his childhood. His mother was 
heart-broken, for this, the baby of the family, was 
going away among strangers to live. How could she 
bear it? He would not be persuaded to give up the 
trip. It was his duty; others had gone out in the 

76 


©U^atietj) Ctaiu 


world and done well. He had his youth, his health, 
his training and some money in the bank. His father 
had tripled his savings. Why, indeed, should he not 
go and make a place for himself. The opportunities 
in the west were too many and great to allow any 
doubts as to his ultimate success. 

George and his family were here and did what 
they could to deter his brother from his purpose, but 
to no avail. He had made up his mind to go, and 
go he must. He would write often and tell them of 
himself and his success. The time for his departure 
came all too soon and it was apparent to all that 
he could not be dissuaded from his purpose. They 
all, with tearful eyes, bade him good bye and God- 
speed, his mother following him to the gate for a 
last farewell. 


The long journey which Herbert Crofton was taking 
was anything but a pleasant one, under the circum- 
stances. He was speeding away from the woman he 
loved with all the passion of his young life, going 
with scarcely a hope of ever seeing her again and that 
without knowing the reason why it was necessary for 
them to separate, only that it was her wish for him to 
remain in ignorance of the true state of affairs, that 
was all he knew. Oh, the irony of fate, how could she 
ask this of him and that after telling him she loved 
him? He felt in his heart there was a terrible in- 
justice about to be enacted in her life and that two 
loving hearts were to be in the wreckage. He had 
given his word. He sat staring out of the window, 
yet seeing nothing. 

He took no heed of the beautiful scenery or of the 
stations as they flew past, lost in thoughts that 

77 


OElf^a&etfc Crane 


seemed to wring the life blood out of his veins. What 
possible good could come out of his life without her by 
his side? Oh, he must go back and save her, even 
against her wishes. She was young and weak; how 
could she know how to defend herself from this 
unknown fate. 

Here the brakeman on the train announced : “Cleve- 
land, next stop.” Herbert sat up and looked about, 
“Why not ?” he said, “I will go back. It is my duty. I 
can save her and make her happy at the same time.” 
Would the" train never stop? He located his suit case 
and the train began to slacken its speed. He arose 
from his seat, when again came that thought, “My 
word! Oh, God, what shall I do? I must decide 
quickly — my word !” The train had come to a standstill 
and he stood with his hands to his aching temples, 
the observed, but not seeing the surprise depicted on 
the faces of his observers. “My God,” he cried aloud, 
“I cannot break my word to her.” He seated himself 
again, still holding his throbbing temples. 

Oh, that he could have been able to realize more 
fully the misery, the unhappiness and the crime he 
would have saved if he had had the courage to break 
his word. How frail, after all, is humanity. We 
grope about as if in the dark, we cannot look ahead. 
We walk, as it were, with closed eyes into seething 
furnaces and are not able to check ourselves in our 
mad rush to the end. This is life, God help us. 

Again the train sped on. Herbert, still too dazed 
to take any notice of either time or locality, and as 
this was a through train, there was no danger of his 
going astray, as a result of his preoccupancy. He 

had never been in C , but as the address of his 

brother, which he had, was all that was necessary, 

78 


CU?a6etI) Crane 


he gave it to the driver of a cab, standing at the sta- 
tion, and was driven direct to his destination. 

Albert and his wife were overjoyed to see him and 
surprised also, for they were unaware of his coming, 
but despite the jovial welcome they gave him and the 
effort they exerted to make him feel at home, he ap- 
peared indifferent. His answers to their questions in 
regard to the folks at home were vague and meaning- 
less. In desperation they at last concluded that he 
must be tired from his long trip and suggested that he 
might like the looks of a bed. His answer to this 
was a little more rational, for he said : 

“Yes, Al, I would like to go to my room, as this 
has been a long and wearisome journey.” 

He was shown to his room and was soon sleeping 
the sweet sleep of forgetfulness. 

“Poor Herbert/’ said the good wife, “what can be 
the matter with him?” 

“I cannot make him out,” said Albert ; “he certainly 
is not himself to-night.” 

“He is very tired,” said Ethel, “but by morning he 
will be all right, I am sure.” 

“There is something wrong,” said Albert ; “mark 
my words, simply being tired could never affect him 
in this way.” 

“Can it have aught to do with Elizabeth?” she 
asked; “you know how fond he is of her. I tremble 
to think what would happen if she were to refuse 
his hand after all these years. He worships her and 
I felt sure that she returned his love. Oh, I do 
hope nothing has happened to blast his life, poor boy.” 

“Now, my dear Ethel, please don’t work yourself 
into such a fit of sympathy. He deserves all the love 
you have for him, but it is not so bad as that. Let 

79 


Cltfabetfi Crane 


us wait till morning, then he will tell us all about 
himself. See, dear, how excited you have become.” 

“Yes, Albert, I am excited, but I know Herbert 
so well that I fear for him.” 


8d 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE VISIT. 

It was nine o’clock the next morning when Herbert 
made his appearance. Albert had gone to his office 
and his wife met Herbert as he came through the sit- 
ting room. 

“How are you this morning, Herbert?” she asked, 
as she gave him a kiss ; “you were very tired last night 
after your journey.” 

“Yes, Ethel, I was rather tired, but I rested good 
and feel much better this morning. I am hungry as 
a wolf. I don’t remember when I ate last.” 

“Poor fellow,” she said, “your breakfast is all ready. 
Come with me,” and she took his arm and led him to 
the table and seated herself near him while he ate. 
It was such a relief to see him feeling so much bet- 
ter and in such good spirits. She curbed her im- 
patience to ask him the thousand and one questions 
that seemed ready to flow from her lips the moment 
he should have done with his breakfast. Immedi- 
ately they were in the little parlor she began. 

“Now, Herbert, how are father and mother? Is 
George well, and Helen ? I haven’t had a letter from 
her for over two weeks. Has Mrs. Sibley given her 
ball yet? I wonder if Mr. Crane comes home every 
Saturday as usual. You have not said a word about 
Elizabeth; I hope everything is lovely with you both. 
It seems so good, Herbert, to have you here to tell 

81 


CUjatutj) Crane 


me all about these things. What brought you west? 
Are you going to stay awhile? Albert can get you 
a good place in his office, if you will stay. Oh, do, 
Herbert, we will have such good times. Did you 
see little Jim and Dorothy? Oh, I’ll send for them,” 
and she went to the dining room and called : 

“Aunt Sally, where are Jim and Dorothy?” 

“In the yard, Miss Ethel.” 

“Send them into the parlor, at once.” 

“Yes’m.” 

“Oh, yes, I wanted to ask if Julie Ashcroft was 
married yet?” she said as she came back to the parlor 
and resumed her seat. She was compelled to stop her 
flow of questions from sheer exhaustion, and when she 
did so, he said: 

“Now, my dear sister, have you stopped? You have 
asked me less than forty questions and have not given 
me time to answer one of them ; yet you are apparently 
as well satisfied as if you had had answers to them all.” 
He laughed, just for all the world like the Herbert of 
old. “I would suggest, dear Ethel, that you ask the 
questions one at a time and perhaps I will be able 
to give you a little information about the folks at 
home.” He laughed again as she blushed. 

“I will be glad to see the two little ones, for it 
is fully a year since you were home. Oh, here they 
come ; how they have grown ! 

“Hello, Jim; hello, Dorothy; don’t you know me?” 
They stood by their mother’s knee and looked at him 
shyly. 

“I know who he is,” said Dorothy, “he’s my Uncle 
Herbert,” and she ran to him and climbed upon his 
knee, and Jim, who had hesitated a little, followed 

her. 


82 


4B I if a bet ft Ctane 


“Oh, Uncle Herbert,” he cried, “when did you 
come?” “How is grandpa and grandma?” added 
Dorothy. They hugged and kissed him between their 
questions, not waiting for an answer. “Oh, I’m so glad 
you’ve come. Are you going to live with us, Uncle Her- 
bert; did you bring me any candy?” and an endless 
number of other questions which Herbert could not 
answer, even if they gave him the chance, which they 
did not. 

“Oh, Uncle Herbert, come out and see my swing,” 
cried Dorothy; “and my river,” cried both together, 
and between them he was led first to the swing, where 
they climbed all over him until Ethel went to his 
rescue. “You must see my river,” said Jim, and with 
their mother bringing up the rear, they escorted him 
behind the grape vines and pointed, for his inspection, 
to a ditch about four feet long into which Dorothy 
had emptied some water she had conveyed from a 
wooden pump nearby, having made several trips 
between the two before enough water to barely wet the 
ditch had been carried. They shouted in high glee 
as they began to wade in the muddy water, one behind 
the other, then back again to the head of the river, as 
they called it. They were both attired in Indian suits 
and were barefooted. Jim’s trousers were turned up 
above his knees, and Dorothy, not to be outdone, gath- 
ered her skirt about her. 

“What is the name of your river, Jim ” asked Her- 
bert. 

“The Pawtuxit,” he replied. “We put on our bath- 
ing suits sometimes and go bathing in it, don’t we, 
Dorothy?” He evidently realized that the statement 
needed some corroboration. 

“Yes,” said Dorothy, “and some day we are going 

83 


Clisa&eti) Crane 


to build a bridge across it and run excursion steam- 
ers on it. We will go fishing, too, and mother won’t 
have to go to the store and buy fish for dinner,” 
said Jim. In this way they entertained their Uncle 
Herbert until nearly noon, when Albert came home 
to lunch. 

"‘Herb, you were pretty nearly played out last night ; 
did you sleep well?” 

“Yes, Al, I had a good night’s rest and feel fine 
this morning.” After a very pleasant little visit at 
the noon hour, Albert excused himself, promising to 
be home early. He kissed the wife and babies and 
ran to catch the car he saw approaching. 

Ethel, who had, earlier in the day, lost, by her extra- 
ordinary flow of questions, the opportunity to learn of 
the folks at home, now sent the children, who were still 
inclined to climb over their uncle, out to play. “You 
must build your bridge this afternoon, you know, and 
Uncle Herbert will come and see it when it is done.” 
With a cry of happiness they flew out of the door and 
were soon as busy as beavers at their play. 

“Now, Herbert,” said Ethel, “tell me all you know ; 
I am burning up with curiosity.” He did so, all ex- 
cepting the story of Elizabeth. He could not bring 
himself to speak of her, although entreated to do so. 
“I cannot, Ethel,” he said, “she has asked me to forget 
her and I will try to do so, but how I ever shall succeed 
He only knows. 

“I will remain in the west and perhaps marry, if 
I can find a woman who will have me after knowing 
the truth. In that way I hope in time to forget the 
past. Help me, dear sister, by not referring to this 
again. Will you do me this favor ?” 

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dElisa&etj) Ctatte 


“Yes, Herbert, but know this, my heart aches for 
you.” 

“I will rest here a week, then I must seek for some- 
thing to do that will occupy my mind ; besides, I have 
no inclination to be idle. Father gave me a good 
business training, and I would make for myself a place 
in the world.” 

“Don’t go away from here, Herbert ; you can surely 
find a position that will suit you without going among 
strangers altogether.” 

“Albert came here among strangers, did he not? 
You and he are very happy. It is in just such a way 
that I hope to get the joy of forgetfulness.” 

“Oh, Herbert, how obstinate you are.” 

“No, Ethel, not obstinate, but determined. I have 
thought it all over, let me have my way. I will be 
able to see you often, and when things have righted 
themselves, I may come back here to live, who 
knows?” and his smile reassured her. 

The balance of the afternoon and, in fact the whole 
week, was passed very pleasantly, Ethel and her hus- 
band doing all in their power to help him in the task 
he had undertaken. 


85 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE INVESTMENT. 

Herbert watched the newspapers in search of a 
business proposition that would be suitable for him. 
There were many that held out flattering inducements 
in the line of partnerships, managers wanted, sales- 
men to take an active interest in well-established busi- 
nesses and various enterprises. This advertisement, 
in particular, riveted his attention and caused him to 
read it the second time : 

“An exceptional opportunity to invest in western 
real estate, mortgage loans. Twelve per cent, inter- 
est paid on first mortgage and ten per cent, on second 
mortgage loans. Address for information, The Crane 
Mortgage and Loan Co., S , Mass.” 

“The Crane Mortgage and Loan Co. Was this 
a coincidence?” he thought. “Mr. Crane has his 

office in S , Mass. Could it be possible it was the 

same? And yet he is a broker; perhaps a broker in 
mortgage loans.” It struck him that it must be the 
same and he studied the ad. again. The more he 
read, the more he was convinced. He cut out the ad- 
vertisement and put it in his pocketbook for future 
reference. 

“What does it matter if he was a mortgage broker ; 

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C li 5 a & e 1 1) Crane 


his duties remain the same— it was to forget. There 
were mortgage brokers and there were mortgage 
brokers. Oh, pshaw, I’ll forget it,” and he passed on 
to others. This one caught his eye : 

“Wanted — Partner with $10,000, to take an interest 
in a well-established coal mining proposition. Capi- 
tal secured by first mortgage on the plant. Wish to 
deal with principals only. No agents. 

“D. C. C., 44 Emmett St., D , 111 .” 

“That looks good.” He read it again. “Capital 
secured by first mortgage on the plant. “I will in- 
vestigate this. There are so many well-worded ad- 
vertisements to catch the eye of the unwary, but this 
has a ring of the true metal in it. 

“I will run down to D in the morning, and 

if I find, after going into the details of the proposition, 
that it is genuine, I need lose no time. I’ll see what 
A 1 thinks of it.” 

That night he handed the paper to his brother and 
asked, in a seemingly disinterested manner: “There, 
Albert, do you see anything in that ad. that savors of 
fraud? Is the security offered sufficient to cover the 
investment? It is not much if the property is a good 
one.” His brother took the paper and read the ad- 
vertisement through twice before answering. 

“I believe it is worth investigating, Herbert. One 
can never tell off hand about these things, nor is he 
able to read correctly between the lines. Run down 
and look at it. There are some very good mines in 
that locality and this may prove to be one also. Go, 
by all means.” 

“Thank you, Albert, it looks good to me, and I 

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OEUsa&et&^Crane 


will go to-morrow” They discussed in general the 
mining interests of the state and country, the wife 
joining in the conversation, for she was very anxious 
that Herbert should choose well. 

"I would suggest, Herbert,” said Ethel, “that you 
take Mr. Wheeler, the attorney, with you and he can 
advise you in regard to the titles of the land and the 
securities offered.” 

“A good idea, Ethel,” said Albert ; “it takes a woman 
to put the finishing touches to a venture of this kind. 
If he says it is all right you need have no fear of the 
consequences, for he can be depended upon.” 

Herbert saw at once that this was the wise course to 
pursue and followed it to the letter. 

“Herbert,” said Albert, “Mr. Wheeler lives near us, 
and we might be able to see him to-night.” 

“I will find out,” said Ethel, getting up and going 
to the telephone. “Yes, you can see him at once if you 
wish,” she said when she returned. “And he would 
be very glad at the same time to meet a brother of my 
husband.” She smiled with pleasure. 

“Let us go at once,” said Albert. 

They found him in his study, sorting over some 
letters, a job, he told them, he had been putting off 
for some time. After a few remarks about the weather 
and more about business conditions in general, the 
business at hand was discussed in all its phases. He 
favored the idea of investigation, and said : 

“If I can do anything for you, my boy, my time is 
yours. What time do you wish to start ?” Time tables 
were consulted, and the hour of eight the next morn- 
ing was decided upon as being the most convenient. 

This train would set them down at D at eleven- 

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thirty. This arranged, Albert and his brother returned 
home. 

The next day after Herbert and Mr. Wheeler had 

taken lunch in D they presented themselves at the 

office, No. 44 Emmett St., and made inquiries for 
D. C. C. 

The office boy conducted them to a door on which 
was painted in gold letters, these words: “D. Coal 
Co., Wm. Borden, Manager.” The boy rapped on 
the door and, on being told to come in, ushered the 
two gentlemen into the presence of a man who sat 
at his desk. Mr. Borden was a middle-aged man, 
rather stout in build, and appeared to be a thorough 
business man. He arose to meet them and inquired : 
“What can I do for you gentlemen ?” 

“I came,” said Herbert, “to make some inquiries 
about the business proposition you advertise in the 
C Herald/’ 

“Oh, yes, won’t you be seated, please?” he said, 
as he drew up a couple of chairs, so that, as they were 
seated, they formed a semicircle around his desk. 

“May I ask, with whom I have the pleasure of this 
visit?” said Mr. Borden. 

“You may, of course,” said Herbert; “this is Mr. 
Wheeler, my attorney, and I am Herbert Crofton, of 
S , Mass. I have come to this part of the coun- 

try in hopes of locating in business. Are you prepared 
to offer the opportunity to investigate this proposition 
thoroughly, or are we to take for granted the details 
you have, no doubt, at hand for curious, would-be, 
investors? Let me state at the outset, that if, upon 
investigation, I find, and my finding is corroborated 
by the advice of my friend here, I am able to take 

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the interest you have for sale, and more, if need be, 
to put the mine on a strictly paying basis.” 

“Mr. Crofton, I appreciate your position fully, and 
it is my purpose to invite your closest scrutiny into 
the smallest details of the business.” 

“Good,” said Herbert, “as my time is limited, I 
would, if agreeable to you, like the investigation to 
begin at once.” 

“It is agreeable to me,” returned Mr. Borden. 

“Then kindly give us a brief, but general outline 
of the business ; the number of acres you control ; the 
number you own; when established; the width and 
thickness of the coal bed and the quantity of output. 
Please give it in your own words, and my friend will 
take notes as you proceed.” 

To say Mr. Borden was surprised at the manner in 
which Herbert Crofton started the investigation, would 
be putting it mildly. He was staggered, dumbfounded, 
to think this young man, little more than .a boy in ap- 
pearance, was going into this thing with the acumen 
of a veteran. He was going to the bottom of it as 
no one had done before, taking his bearings as he went 
along. Mr. Borden shifted in his chair, moved a few 
papers on his desk and, turning to his visitors again, 
said : 

“Are you ready, Mr. Wheeler, if so, we will pro- 
ceed ?” 

“I am ready,” he said, adjusting his glasses. This 
gave Mr. Borden an instant to collect his scattered 
wits. 

“Gentlemen, this mine was first established in the 
year 1884 by one Sidney Clay. He owned twenty 
acres, more or less, and sunk the shaft near the center 
of his land. The shaft was only thirty feet deep and 

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<2U?a&etf) Crane 


the coal bed, then worked, was eighteen inches thick 
by twenty feet wide, running nearly east and west. 
Not a very large bed, you will say, yet in the four 
years he worked it, he mined nearly eight thousand 
tons of coal. He worked the mine a few hundred 
feet beyond the boundary of his land and was forced 
to purchase, at a price he considered exorbitant, an 
additional ten acres on either side of the original 
twenty acres, making 40 acres all told. The bed be- 
ing small, the cost of producing the coal was in- 
creased from the fact that a considerable amount of 
earth must be removed in order to reach the coal. 

“Gentlemen, am I going into the details more 
minutely than is necessary to satisfy you?” 

“No,” said Herbert, “it is important.” 

Mr. Borden continued : “Mr. Clay, during the next 
four years took 10,000 tons from the hole in the 
ground and again found himself nearing the limit 
of his land. As the production did not seem to war- 
rant the purchase of more land, he made some tests 
to determine if there was another bed running paral- 
lel with the present one. The indications were favor- 
able, so he began to dig a cross chamber toward the 
north in hopes of finding it before he should again 
go beyond his boundary line. He was unsuccessful in 
this and began to dig south from the shaft. At a dis- 
tance of a thousand feet or so he encountered an- 
other small bed, twenty-eight inches thick by three 
and a half wide. This additional resource enabled 
him to increase his working force, and during the 
next five years, he had taken upwards of 18,000 tons 
from the mine. 

“This coal bed had come to an end, a half mile 
west of the shaft, but had increased in size to a 

9i 


©Hsa&etj) Crane 


width of six feet by the time he came to the limit of 
his land in the other direction. He attempted to 
purchase more land, but the price asked was beyond his 
power to pay. He must secure the land and sought 
a partner with money to help him. 

“1 was like you, in this section of the country 
looking for an outlet for some of my surplus savings 
and heard of this mine. I investigated the proposition, 
with the result that I purchased the entire plant, to- 
gether with fifty acres west and one hundred acres 
east of the present holdings, also enough land north 
and south of the original tract to complete the paral- 
lel strip of land. 

“This was less than a year ago. In my eagerness 
to create a monopoly on the land adjoining the mine 
I had exhausted my surplus and gone rather beyond 
my depths, for I found myself unable to work the 
mine properly. I made several attempts to secure 
more capital, but without success, as yet. 

“That, gentlemen, is the story. What I hope to do is 
this: Owing to the long distance the coal must be 
conveyed under ground and as the depth is only 
thirty feet, I would sink another ^haft, with more 
convenient appliances for handling coal at a point 
one mile east of the present shaft. This will be 
nearly three-quarters of a mile nearer the railroad, 
which I will show you.” He paused a moment, and 
then said: “I am ready, gentlemen, to answer any 
questions you may wish to ask, or to show you the 
plant. I am at your service. 

“Thank you, Mr. Borden,” said Herbert; “as it is 
getting late, I would prefer to continue my investiga- 
tion in the morning, when we will go over the grounds 
and get further details as we go on. Your history of 

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CUfafictfi Ctane 


the mines and the description of the workings have 
interested me very much. You will see us by eight 
o’clock to-morrow, if that time is agreeable to you.” 

“It is, Mr. Crofton ; I will have my carriage at your 
hotel at seven-thirty to await your pleasure. The drive 
is about three mile east of the city. The name of your 
hotel, please?” Herbert named it and bade him good 
night, then the two left him until the morrow. 

Herbert drew from his pocket a piece of paper, tore 
it in two parts and, turning to Mr. Wheeler, said: 
“Take one of these and write one word that will con- 
vey to me your opinion on the matter and I will do 
the same.” Both stopped and, seeking a place on 
which to write, each one writing the word he had in 
his mind. Herbert passed his to Mr. Wheeler, who 
in turn passed his to Herbert. The two words were 
identical: “Bona fide.” Then shaking hands with 
each other and laughing, they proceeded to the hotel 
without further discussion concerning the mine. 

The next day, as they sat at dinner after a whole 
morning, in going into every detail of the proposed 
transaction, Herbert once more produced the two 
pieces of paper and said: “I will ask you again, Mr. 
Wheeler, to write your verdict of this proposition. 
Let it be short and to the point. I will do the same,” 
and he handed him a piece of paper across the table. 
Without hesitation both men wrote three words, and as 
before, they were the same. These words were: “A 
safe investment.” They then proceeded to eat the 
dinner that had been placed before them. 

“We will go this afternoon and close the bargain,” 
said Herbert. “I want you to see that everything 
is strictly legal.” 

Bereft of all legal phraseology, the situation as 

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di^afietf) Cratte 


finally agreed upon was as follows: Herbert to place 
in the bank $5,000 to the credit of the Diamond Coal 
company together with a note for a like amount, by 
which he was made half owner, with the understand- 
ing that all checks for material, labor, salary, etc., 
must bear his signature. He would look after the 
office part of the business while Mr. Borden looked 
after the business at the mines. 

All the legal papers that were necessary for the 
completion of the agreement were vouched for by Mr. 
Wheeler and another lawyer selected by Mr. Borden. 
After these matters were arranged Herbert and his 

friend departed for C with the understanding that 

Herbert would be back in D. the following Monday. 

The remainder of Herbert Crofton’s visit with his 
brother’s family was thoroughly enjoyed by them all. 

Herbert, now that he had chosen his occupation, 
was rather inclined to want to be by himself where 
he could think and, no doubt, he would have remained 
in his room, had the little ones not insisted upon his 
company. 

Once while reading to Jim a nursery tale that had 
been read to him a score of times at least, Herbert 
thought to cut the story short. He tried to skip 
over some unimportant parts when Jim, who knew 
the story almost by heart, would call his attention 
to the mistake and insist on having the whole of it. In 
spite of it all, his thoughts would revert to Eliza- 
beth Crane. 

Was it possible that he was to see her no more? 
Never go back to her home for fear he Would see 
her, she who had been his living dream? How could 
fate be so hard with him; fate that had been so 

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Clnabetb Ctaite 


kind to him in other things, to desert him now in 
the one sweet dream of his life. His hands would 
grasp the arms of his chair as if he would take this 
same fate and crush it in his hands. 

Monday came at last and with it the opportunity 
to get away where he would be by himself, and if 
not alone, he would at least be with strangers. 

The happiness here was irksome to him. To hear 
others laugh would be to make his misery more acute. 
But this would never do, to-day of all days, he was 
going away. He must cheer up and endeavor to act 
his part, at least. 

The little ones had been up for an hour, impatient 
for their Uncle Herbert, and when they heard his 
steps on the stairs they hurried to meet him. He 
caught them up and, with one on each shoulder, 
came into the dining-room. They were shouting at 
the top of their voices : “See, who has got us, mother ; 
see who has got us/’ and he marched them around 
and around the table, singing the song of “Sandy and 
his mule/’ they joining in as best they could. 

“Says I to Sandy, will you lend me a mule? 

Says I to Sandy, will you lend me a mule? 

Says I to Sandy, will you lend me a mule? 

Of course I will, says Sandy.” 

Everybody laughed to see how the children enjoyed 
their uncle. They consented at last to be set down 
with a promise that after breakfast he would play 
in the swing with them. 

Albert would not go to the office till noon, and 
as Herbert was to go after dinner, all were bent on 

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making this last half day of his visit count for 
something. And it did. Everybody agreed, as they 
sat down to dinner, that it had been the best of all 
the good days he had been there. Their joy was 
turned to sadness as the time grew near for him to 
leave for his new home. 

“Oh, I am coming back some time and we will 
have some more good times, won’t we, Jim and 
Dorothy ?” 

Partly reassured, they all started for the station 
on foot, for it was not far, Jim and Dorothy insisting 
on carrying the largest grips, and only desisting on 
the promise of allowing them to take charge of them 
at the station until the train came along. At the 
station the two held his hands and danced about him, 
each eager to be the last to kiss him good-bye. At 
last the train came into view around a curve in the 
road, and to a standstill. He climbed aboard after 
an affectionate farewell to all. The train started and 
he was gone. 

At the office the next morning Herbert, with the as- 
sistance of Mr. Borden, made himself familiar with 
the duties that were to become his as the head of it. 
He answered some letters and transacted some other 
business that had been in abeyance for a month or 
so. These matters attended to, they discussed the 
sinking of a new shaft which had been referred to 
and decided that no time must be lost in getting the 
work started. 

A gang of men was engaged, material ordered and 
the railroad company notified to change their tracks 
so as to be in readiness to handle their output without 
unnecessary delay. 


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Herbert, as he returned to his hotel, was well 
pleased with what had been accomplished during the 
day. This had been his first day of actual business 
for himself. It had afforded him that blessed sense 
of forgetfulness that he craved. 

He bought a local paper and on the first page he 
saw headlines that attracted his attention. Mention 
was made of his purchase of a half interest in the 
coal mine and of the improvements contemplated, also 
what was known of his life and that of his family, 
which was not much, for he refused to speak of his 
affairs to the reporter who had called at his office, 
not wishing to be brought before the footlights as a 
capitalist, for, while his act would mean the employ- 
ment of a goodly number of men, the thought of 
notoriety was abhorrent to him. 

He finished his dinner and sat in the lobby of the 
hotel, watching absently the people who came and 
went. A sense of loneliness crept over him as he 
sat there. Of all these people there was not one he 
knew. He was a stranger in a strange land. Yes- 
terday he had wished for just this so that he might 
think. He knew now that this was just what he ought 
not do, for the thoughts that came to him were of 
her, the one who had asked him as a last favor to 
forget her, and he must or he would go insane. 

He would write a letter home and then call on 
his partner, who had asked him to come and meet 
his wife and daughter. 

Mr. Borden, as we know, had come here less 
•Ithan a year ago. He had bought his home, a beau- 
tiful suburban place, and was sitting on the front 
piazza, which was wide and long with a flat roof, up- 

97 


(EUsa&ett) Crane 


held by heavy columns. He was smoking a pipe of 
musing contentment. 

He was a fine specimen of the cultivated easterner, 
portly in figure, yet not corpulent. His massive head 
betokened breadth and strength of intellect. 

He arose from his chair as Herbert approached 
and extended his hand in greeting. He insisted upon 
his taking the chair he had vacated, while he secured 
others for his wife and himself. Mrs. Borden soon 
joined them, giving her hand to Herbert when intro- 
duced, saying: “I welcome you, Mr. Crofton, to our 
home and city. I understand you are a stranger in 
this part of the country and I want you to feel free 
to come here at any time you are inclined to do so. 
Living in a hotel is not altogether pleasant, especially 
after living at home among your own people.” 

“You are very kind, Mrs. Borden, and I will be 
very glad to come out here often. It is much pleas- 
anter than in the city.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Borden, “it is especially fine here 
in the fall of the year when the leaves are turning. 
I love to sit here on this porch, far into the night 
and plan my work, where I cannot hear the noise 
and rumble of city traffic.” 

They fell to talking of business matters and what 
they expected to do when the new shaft was sunk. 
Mrs. Borden, as enthusiastic over the plans as were 
the men, made a number of suggestions, that, when 
worked out, proved to be very valuable. 

The evening passed all too soon for Herbert. He 
had enjoyed every moment of his stay and said to 
himself, on the way back to the hotel, that he would 
go there often. 

The daughter, Grace Borden, he had not seen. 

98 


Clt?a&etf) Crane 


Her mother had explained her absence by saying 
she was spending the evening with some friends 
in the neighborhood, but she would be home the next 
time he called, which she hoped would be soon. 


99 


CHAPTER XIII. 


AGNES COLEMAN. 

Herbert made frequent trips to the mines in connec- 
tion with his duties and on one occasion as he was 
about to reach a turn in the road, his spirited horses 
became frightened at an automobile that stood by the 
side of the road and would have run away but for 
Herbert’s strong hold on the reins, he drew them up 
on their haunches just opposite the machine, when he 
perceived that the chauffeur was making some re- 
pairs to the mechanism beneath the rear axle. After 
quieting his horses Herbert left his seat in the trap 
and sought to learn the cause of the accident. 

The occupants of the auto were a very beautiful 
young lady of perhaps three or four and twenty, and 
an elderly lady, evidently her mother, although as he 
looked he could not see much of a family resemblance 
between them. 

Herbert addressed the young lady and asked if 
there was anything he could do to assist them in 
their trouble. 

“Thank you, Mr. Crofton, but I am afraid the 
chain is broken almost beyond the chauffeur’s ability 
to repair with any of the tools at hand. He is making 
a heroic effort to do so and may succeed, but I fear 
it is impossible.” 

Herbert gave a start when he heard her call his 


ioo 


©It'sa&etf) Crane 


name, for he could not remember ever having seen 
her before. 

“Excuse me, but you seem to have the advantage 
over me, in that you know me.” 

“Oh, yes,” she returned with a merry twinkle in 
her eyes, “I have known you for a long time; that 
is, I did know you when you were a boy.” 

Herbert gazed into her face respectfully and en- 
deavored to place her, and while there was something 
about her features that seemed familiar, still he was 
powerless to recall when or where he had seen her. 
Perhaps it was the veil that was drawn over the wide 
hat and tied under the chin that disguised her. 

“I hope you will pardon me, when I say that I do 
not remember ever having seen you before.” 

“Of course I will, but before I tell you who I am, 
please let me recall a few incidents in your life that 
must surely help you to remember me, for we were 
good friends then, you and I. You cannot have for- 
gotten the little, old, red school house, half way up 
the hill, on what was known as ‘Potato Lane,’ so 
called, as I have heard, from the story of a farmer 
taking a load of potatoes up the hill, and he had al- 
most reached the top when the end gate of his wagon 
fell out and the potatoes were spilled all the way 
down the hill. Do you remember?” 

His face brightened instantly. The recollection of 
that school of all others, was like taking him back 
to the time when he knelt at his mother’s knee and 
lisped his childish prayer. The remembrance of that 
playground brought the tears to his eyes that nothing 
else had been able to do. He grasped her hand and 
said: “Do I remember it; can I ever forget it? You 
have touched the cord that nothing else you might 


IOI 


©leaflet!) Crane 


have said could do. You have made me a boy again. 
Who are you that could know the joy and happiness 
that I, as a boy, experienced in that school and play- 
ground? Tell me who you are, I say?” And he 
wrung her hand in both of his own and looked into 
her face searchingly. 

Tears were in her eyes as she watched him. This 
emotion on his part was wholly unexpected and the 
joy it gave her was unspeakable. 

“First, tell me who it was that used to draw you 
about on your sled, who would carry your school 
books, who would help you when you fell, who would 
always take your part when the older boys would 
tease you, who would tie your shoe strings when they 
were unfastened and who would wipe your eyes when 
your heart was broken? Do you remember her, I 
say ?” 

“Yes, I do remember them and you; I know who 
you are. It was you that mended a rent in my trou- 
sers once and saved me a good tanning. It was you 
that fished my ball out of the well, and you who fixed 
my sling when Weston Sibley broke the rubber. Oh, 
you were my good angel then, Agnes Coleman; can 
you ever forgive me for not knowing you. You have 
changed so. You were very pretty then, but now,” 
he hesitated, “you are beautiful. Have you lived here 
long ?” 

“Yes, I have lived here since I left B twelve 

years ago.” 

“I shall expect to see you often, if you will per- 
mit me to call.” 

“By all means; there is much I would like to say 
to you ; questions galore that I would ask, about people 
I knew then. Will you come soon?” 


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CH^a&etj) Crane 


“To-night, if I may,” he replied: “where do you 
live?” 

She named the street and number. “Let me intro- 
duce my friend and companion, Mrs. Anderson. 
Margaret, this is my old school mate, Herbert Crof- 
ton. I have not seen him for over twelve years, and 
how he has grown. Ah, George, you have the chain 
fixed at last.” 

“Yes. I think it is all right again.” 

“Then we must be going. I will look for you to 
take dinner with me this evening at six o’clock. Don’t 
make any excuses, Herbert, I will not listen. Good-bye 
until then.” 

Herbert had taken his seat in the trap, picked up the 
reins and was trying to make a protest against 
troubling her, when she bade him a cheery good-bye 
and promised to see him later. 

Herbert found that things at the mines were mov- 
ing in a lively manner. A large derrick had been 
erected over the site of the new shaft and men were 
busy with pick and shovel, removing the top dressing 
of earth. Several rock drills were at hand to place 
in position as soon as the rocky ledge should appear. 

Mr. Borden was giving orders here and there, for 
the lumber and other material was beginning to arrive 
on the ground, and it was with difficulty that Herbert 
found an opportunity to consult with his partner on 
matters of business pertaining to his office work. 

The railroad officials had also made good headway 
in laying the roadbed for the new rails, with the in- 
dication that this part of the work would be ready, 
even before the shaft was sunk. 

Herbert drove home in a leisurely manner, going 
somewhat out of his regular course in order to con- 

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<ZEli?a&etlj Crane 


sume more of the time ere he would call on his school- 
mate. 

He drove first to his hotel and left directions for 
his horses to be well taken care of, then went to his 
room and dressed for dinner. He then sauntered 
leisurely to the home of Agnes Coleman, which was 
about four blocks away. 

As he approached it he remembered having seen it 
before and admiring its architecture and location on 
a beautiful terraced lawn, the house was built back 
at least fifty feet from the street, and with an equally 
wide space on each side, it presented an excellent ap- 
pearance, somewhat better than the neighboring 
houses, which were also of good design. 

He hesitated long enough to take in each and every 
detail of the mansion with its wide verandas extend- 
ing completely around it, the wide stone steps leading 
up to it from the front and two sides. The large chim- 
ney, the two bow windows in front, and the beautiful 
honeysuckles now in blossom. They extended up to 
the eaves of the house and around the sides for a 
space of twenty feet. 

On the rear of the lot was built a commodious 
garage, in front of which stood the auto, and the 
chauffeur was adjusting some of the mechanism. 

Herbert ascended the two short flights of steps 
that led to the veranda and rang the bell. He cast 
his eyes over the view to be had from the elevation 
and he could not but approve of the good judgment 
of Agnes and her father in selecting so magnificent 
a place. 

So absorbed was he with the surroundings that he 
did not notice the door open nor hear footsteps by 
his side until Agnes spoke. 

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Ch'sa&etf) Crane 


"I need not ask you, Herbert, how you like the 
view, for I can see your approval plainly indicated 
on your face,” and she took his arm and led him to 
one of the flower boxes, of which there were many, 
and with her pretty hand picked a white rose and 
pinned it to the lapel of his coat. 

“Are you a lover of flowers ?” she asked. 

“Indeed I am, Agnes ; but why did you select for me 
the white rose from all the flowers I see here ?” and he 
looked into her eyes searchingly. 

“I hardly know; I suppose I must have thought it 
would please you, but am I mistaken?” 

“Yes and no; yes, because it has always been my 
favorite flower, and no, because it has reminded 
me of what I have been trying so hard to forget — it has 
brought back sad recollections.” He looked at it con- 
stantly for a moment and, then turning away from 
her to hide the emotion he felt, he brushed aside a 
tear that would come in spite of him. 

Deft as he had been in doing this, the act was not 
unnoticed by Agnes, who came to his side and placed 
her hand on his arm and looked into his face. 

“Herbert, you have a great sorrow as well as I ; 
what is it? Will you not tell me?” 

“I cannot, Agnes. Please do not ask me, at least 
not now, perhaps sometime I may tell you, but the 
wound is too fresh to speak of it. What is your sor- 
row? You will not mind telling me?” 

“Of course not, Herbert. My father was taken 
from me eight weeks ago,” She could say no more, 
for her emotion overcame her, and Herbert, in un- 
spoken sympathy, removed his hat as if in the pres- 
ence of the dead. 

“It grieves me to learn this, Agnes; believe me, I 

105 


(ZEUfa&eti) Crane 


sincerely sympathize with you in this, your great sor- 
row/’ 

After a few moments she became more calm and 
said: “Come, Herbert, dinner is ready,” and she led 
the way to her exquisite dining-room. 

The table was set for the three, including Mrs. An- 
derson. The lately reunited friends talked of the times 
of their childhood. 

“You say you came here when you left B . I 

missed you so many times after you had gone. Tell 
me of yourself, Agnes, and how you happened to take 
up your residence here ?” 

“I will tell you the few things that might interest 

you. In the year 1885, my father came to D to 

take charge of the western branch of his firm. Two 
years later his partner passed away and my father pur- 
chased the entire stock of the company. In another 
two years he retired, leaving the management of the 
business in the hands of my brother, who had grown 
up with the business and knew each and every detail. 
We, my father and I, for my mother died very soon 
after we came here, spent a year abroad touring 
Europe, and another six months in California. 

“I have been planning for over two weeks to meet 
you. I have not seen a soul from that beautiful, 
little village, and when I saw your name in the papers 
the thoughts of the old home came back to me so 
vividly I could not resist the desire to converse with 
you and live over again the little incidents that were 
so important to us in our childhood days. 

“I was not sure that you were the same Herbert 
Crofton that I had known until I saw you yesterday. 
I felt no compunction in making some advances to 
see you, for you know I am your senior by at least 

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Cli'?a&etJ) Crane 


three years. Now tell me, Herbert, are you glad 
to see me?” 

“Am I glad to see you, Agnes? You are jesting 
with me now, I know. You are surely blind if you 
cannot read it in my face. The sight of you has 
given me a renewed interest in life, which I had begun 
to think was not worth the living.” 

“Oh, Herbert, how you talk. What on earth can 
have come into your life, so young, to cause you to say 
these words? Tell me how you have been, how are 
your parents and how is the little girl you used to 
be so fond of ? What was her name, Elizabeth Crane, 
wasn’t it? Oh, I was a little jealous of her when 
you used to make me take her on your sled with you. 
Come and tell me of yourself.” 

At the mention of Elizabeth Crane’s name, Her- 
bert gave a start and moved uneasily in his chair. It 
had brought him back to earth again. He sat in a 
deep study for a few moments and then said: “Yes, 
Agnes, I will tell you of my life, hard as it may be 
to speak of it.” 

And he did so up to the present time, passing as 
briefly as he could the time of his parting with Eliza- 
beth Crane. 

She allowed him to proceed without interruption un- 
til he had finished, then asked: “Would she give no 
explanation of her strange conduct, allowing you to 
go away in ignorance of the true state of affairs?” 
He bowed his head and was silent. “And you have no 
suspicion of the man’s name?” 

“No, my friend, and I gave her my word that I 
would not seek to learn it, nor anything connected with 
it, and I will keep my word. She promised, how- 
ever, to let me know if, in the future, I could do any- 

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Cli^atietf) Crane 


thing for her. Agnes,” he added, “I know we shall 
be good friends, and I must ask you not to speak of 
this again. I cannot endure it. Promise me by all 
that you hold most dear that you will not mention this 
again, the wound is too deep, too recently made, I 
cannot bear it. I intend to live this down or die in 
the attempt.” He turned away to hide the deep emo- 
tion that he could not control. 

Agnes arose and went to him and, taking his hand, 
said: “I promise, Herbert; be brave, dear friend, be 
true to your convictions of duty and honor and all 
will come right.” 

“I thank you, Agnes, the future looks dark before 
me now, but with your friendship and forbearance I 
hope to succeed in my determination. I am sure you 
can help me a great deal.” And he lifted the hand 
he held to his lips. 

“Yes, I will endeavor to help you, you may rest 
assured,” said Agnes as she resumed her place on the 
opposite side of the small table. 

Many incidents were recalled by each other of their 
happy school-days and the unhappy thoughts seemed 
to be forgotten. 

After dinner Agnes led the way to the music room 
and many old and familiar pieces she played on the 
piano while Herbert sang in his deep, clear voice to 
her accompaniment. 

When Herbert left that evening it was understood 
that he would take her to the mines on the morrow 
and explain to her the many details of the work con- 
templated. 


108 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AULD LANG SYNE. 

Herbert Crofton went to his room, but not to sleep. 
He threw himself into an easy chair, to think, but his 
thoughts were not all of Elizabeth Crane. 

Will you, kind reader, please, for a few moments, 
put yourself in his place? I ask it in all sincerity. 
What is your object in life? You are young? Yes. 
Your business prospects are good? Yes. Your fam- 
ily is of the best, and you can meet, without diffi- 
culty, the best of people, socially? Yes. That is all 
true, but will any of these afford you the joy, the 
peace, the comfort, the sacred home life and the 
realization of that which is and should be, the crown- 
ing glory of your life on earth? 

You have been disappointed by love’s young dream. 
Is it right to consider yourself shipwrecked upon the 
shoals of everlasting solitude ? Is it right to go about 
from pillar to post seeking that which can never be 
found? Would it not be better by far to accept the 
fate that stares you in the face and strive with your 
utmost endeavor to gain the glory of life. May God 
help you, who are placed in a like position, to judge 
wisely. 

It was nearly dawn the next morning, and the 
light from the rising sun was beginning to dispel 
the darkness about him, for he had not turned on 
the lights the night before, that he began to realize 

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difa&etf) Crane 


that he had not slept. His eyes had remained anchored 
to a streak of light on the wall, cast there from a 
light outside his room, through a transom over his 
door. A clock, somewhere, was striking the hour of 
five. He attempted to arise from his chair when a 
feeling as of a thousand needles were in his feet 
caused him to cry aloud. They were numb from re- 
maining in a cramped position. After a few min- 
utes he gained his feet and, staggering to the bed, 
threw himself upon it and was soon fast asleep. 

When he awoke, the sun was high and shining 
brightly across his bed. He looked at his watch, it 
was three o’clock. Was it afternoon? He had prom- 
ised to see Agnes in the morning. He leaped from 
the bed and glanced at the clock on the mantel ; it was 
nine o’clock. Ah, his watch had run down for want 
of winding. He lost no time in eating a light lunch 
and calling upon his newly found friend. 

Agnes opened the door and led him into the re- 
ception room. 

“Herbert,” said she, “I don’t think I slept a wink 
last night ; I was thinking of you and your trouble.” 

“Hush, Agnes, you promised,” and he touched his 
lips with his finger to denote silence. 

“Yes, I did promise, and I will do more, I will 
help you to forget. I have nothing better to do now, 
so I will give you as much of my time as you like. 
We will drive, play tennis and hunt, for I am an 
expert, almost, with a gun. I understand there is 
some good game northeast of here. Oh, as I look 
at you, Herbert, I can almost imagine myself back 
in one of those hard, battle-scarred benches in that 
old school house. Those were happy, happy days, and 
I never will forget them.” 


no 


Cli?a&et|) Crane 


“Yes,” he said, “I can see everything there just 
now, just as if it were only yesterday. What good 
times we had there in the winter time sliding down 
that long hill. We could start at Hiram Weather- 
head’s house, a half mile above the school house, and 
slide down into the village below. Do you remember 
when Walter Roberts gave us all a ride down the 
hill on his big, new bob-sled, that was painted red 
with a gold stripe all around it and the word 
‘COMET’ in the center of the long board, and when 
we were almost opposite the school house, his foot 
slipped off the foot-rest and we were all thrown in 
the snow bank?” They both laughed heartily at the 
recollection. 

“I should say I did, and didn’t we wash his face 
good in the snow for dumping us. I know he did it 
on purpose, although he begged hard to have us quit. 
I was glad no one was hurt, for the snow was soft 
and deep at that point.” 

They talked and laughed for an hour, each re- 
calling some comical incident of that never-to-be-for- 
gotten play-ground. 

At last Herbert remembered his morning mail at 
the office that had not been attended to, and said: 
“Come, Agnes, get ready and go to the office with 
me for an hour or so. I have some letters to an- 
swer and then we will take a drive.” 

“All right; but don’t you know it is almost eleven 
now? Suppose you go and write your letters and 
we will have lunch together and go driving after 
that.” 

“How time does fly,” said Herbert ; “of course that 
is the best way, I will be back at i : 30, if that time 
will be agreeable to you.” 


Ill 


(SHtsa&etb Crane 


“Good for you, it suits me exactly. Good-bye,” 
she called after him. 

Promptly at 1:30 Herbert made his appearance and 
together they took their places in the waiting auto. 

“Herbert,” said Agnes, “where are your brothers, 
Albert and George? I suppose they are married and 
have happy, families by this time. ,, 

“Yes, Albert is in C , with, a good position, 

and his wife and babies are fine. I stopped there while 
I was making this deal for the coal mine. Their two 
little ones are so effervescent, full of life to the brim. 
They led us many a merry chase, I can tell you. Jim 
is past six and Dorothy almost five. I will be glad to 

show them to you some day. George is still in B , 

married, with one baby, a girl, nearly three now, and 
pretty as a picture. I’d like to see her this minute,” 
and he laughed as he thought of her. “She calls 
my father ‘pa’ and her father ‘daddy/ ” 

“Oh, how I’d love to see her,” said Agnes, “I ex- 
pect she is your favorite, isn’t she?” 

“She is, because I have seen her grow from a baby. 

The others were born in C , and only came east 

twice. They are fine, all of them.” 

“And the baby’s name, Herbert?” 

“It is Helen Mary.” 

“What a sweet name,” said Agnes. “I suppose 
Helen is her mother’s name?” 

“Yes, it is a sweet name, and a sweeter character 
than hers it would be hard to find. 

“Tell me, Herbert,” said Agnes, “whatever became 
of Weston Sibley?” 

“I know very little of him. Until two or three years 
ago he has been away to college, I believe. He was 
graduated with a good record from ‘old Yale,’ and 


1 12 


<EU5aliet& Crane 


the course he received, in the practice of law, at Ber- 
lin, was second to none. His father took great pride 
in his education and was unstinted in the expendi- 
tures necessary to make it the best. Since leaving 
college he has spent a great deal of time away from 
his home and some ugly reports have been going the 
rounds of ‘the smart set’ in regard to him. He only 
comes home now and then to attend some function 
of importance and remains only a few days. Why do 
you ask?” 

“Oh, nothing in particular. I only remember him 
as a school-mate. I have often watched him while 
the others were at play and, instead of joining in the 
sport, he would sit apart and act as if they were all 
beneath his attention and if he noticed them at all, 
it would be to tease them. You told me how he 
cut the rubber on your sling. I watch and speculate 
on the kind of men boys are likely to make. What 
you say of him nearly coincides with my forecast.” 

“Yes, Agnes, and it has been a hard blow to his 
father. He has aged at least ten years in the last 
two. He is a proud man and feels the disgrace 
keenly.” 

“He deserves better, I know, Herbert, and it is 
hard indeed.” 

The afternoon was fine, and the roundabout course 
they took to get to their destination afforded them the 
opportunity of passing through a piece of woodland. 
The road through the woods was wide and straight 
and one could see from one end to the other as 
through a tunnel, so beautifully did the trees on each 
side complete the arch over the road. It being fall 
the trees looked for all the world like a big flower 
garden, so variegated was the foliage, and Agnes 

H3 


Ctane 


could not resist the temptation of gathering the pretty 
leaves as they fell. 

Herbert joined her and together they strolled, pick- 
ing a wild flower here and there, as they walked along. 
Herbert stopped once and pinched himself to see if he 
were awake or only dreaming. Could it be possible 
that only a week ago he came through these same 
woods trying to kill time? Yes, he was awake, the 
pain was just as acute as ever. He was very happy, 
yet this was not Elizabeth Crane he was so deeply in- 
terested in, but another. He could not understand 
how he could be so contented under the circumstances. 

Agnes, who had gone on, glanced back and saw 
him so seemingly dazed. “Why, Herbert, what is the 
matter? You seem to be feeling ill.” 

“Yes, Agnes, I feel rather queer; I have been 
trying to find out if I am awake or asleep? What is 
this strange spell you have cast over me ? I am happy 
here with you and I never expected to be happy again.” 

“Come, come, Herbert, listen to me, you must not 
talk so, for you will live to see many happy days, I am 
sure. Life is very sweet. Look at the bright side 
and not at the dark except to note the contrast. You 
say you are happy, why not? The sun shines just 
as brightly as ever. See, just beyond that old fence, 
the beautiful green spot. Someone has placed a 
board between those two trees. Come, let us sit there 
together,” and she led him toward the bench. 

Upon arriving at the mines Herbert was all enthusi- 
asm over the work contemplated, not omitting a single 
point that might interest her. Agnes listened with close 
attention to all he said, asking many questions upon 
points not made quite clear to her and making quite 
a few suggestions for the safety of the miners in 

114 


Ctatte 


going up and down the shaft and also in the passages 
under ground. Herbert took notes with the idea of 
calling Mr. Borden's attention to them. 

On the way home each vied with the other in mak- 
ing the drive a happy one. Ripples of laughter were 
heard more than once by passersby. If it was witch- 
ery that held Herbert in her spell, he must have dis- 
played no little of the same to keep her enthralled, 
for they were very happy together. 

“Agnes,” said Herbert, as they were nearing her 
home, “Richard Mansfield is here to-night in ‘Old 
Heidelberg.' Would you care to see him?” 

“I would be delighted, Herbert.” 

“Good. I will have tickets and call for you at 7 : 30. 
I must go to the office now for an hour or two.” 

“Certainly, Herbert, the chauffeur will leave you 
there,” and she gave him directions. 

During the following month they saw much of each 
other and with the reminiscences which they were able 
to recall, Herbert regained much of his old-time good 
nature. 

Many long drives they enjoyed together and oc- 
casionally, as they were returning, Agnes, who was 
very fond of horses, asked for and took the reins out 
of his hands. Once as they came to the fork in the 
roads she chose the longer route. The almost full 
moon that was now so prominent as it appeared over 
the hill to their right, aided her in no small degree in 
driving the spirited horses who now and then would 
shy as the light breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. 

Herbert took the keenest pleasure in watching her 
happy face and hearing her silvery laugh as it would 
ripple out at the recollection of some incident of their 

ysi 


GElisa&etl) Ctatte 


lives back in that little village among the Green Moun- 
tains. 

At another fork in the road as they came to it, 
Herbert pointed to the one leading to the right, and 
said: 

“Let us drive past the home of Mr. Borden and 
see if you don’t think it is very comfortable.” 

She drew the reins as indicated and they were soon 
nearing the house when Herbert espied his partner 
sitting on the long, low porch. 

“Would you mind if we stop for a little while? I 
would like for you to meet him, also his charming wife, 
and perhaps the daughter, whom I have not seen.” 

“Not in the least; in fact, I will be delighted to stop 
and meet them and renew the slight acquaintance I 
have with the latter.” 

“Then drive to that post by the second tree and we 
will go in for a little while.” 

Mr. Borden arose from his chair as he saw them 
and waited on the edge of the porch for them to 
advance. 

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Crofton,” he said, as he 
extended his hand. 

“Thank you, Mr. Borden ; allow me to introduce my 
friend, Miss Coleman. Agnes, this is Mr. Borden, 
my partner.” 

The genial Mr. Borden took her hand and said: 
“Miss Coleman, I am very glad to know you ; if you 
are a friend of my young partner you are most wel- 
come. Let us go into the house, where I can get 
a better look at you,” and he led the way. “This is 
a great pleasure, I assure you. Mrs. Borden,” as that 
lady came forward, “this is Miss Coleman, and Mr. 
Crofton, you know already.” 

ii 6 


CU?a6ni) Crane 


Her greetings were cordial and she made them 
very welcome. Seats were found in the living 
room and they spent a very pleasant evening to- 
gether. 

Miss Borden soon made her appearance and she, 
with the other members of her family, proved to be 
excellent entertainers. Her choice selections on the 
piano were highly appreciated and she was followed 
by Agnes in some of her favorite instrumentals. Her- 
bert was induced to sing a comic song or two, which 
brought down the house. 

“Father,” said Miss Borden, “you are not to escape 
without speaking your little piece,” and she handed 
him his violin, which he took reluctantly. He was 
thoroughly enjoying the entertainment and was con- 
tent to be a listener, instead of an actor in the little 
social drama. There was no escape for him and he 
entertained them with several of his favorite quick- 
steps. All at once Mrs. Borden was missed, but in a 
short time she returned to invite them to a dainty little 
lunch in their spacious dining room. 

The evening had been spent so pleasantly that no 
thought of time had been considered, but after the re- 
freshments Herbert glanced at his watch and was 
surprised to see that it was after ten. Time for them 
to be going. It was with many invitations for them 
to come again in the near future that they soon left 
for the city. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE PROPOSAL. 

Herbert and Agnes took many delightful drives 
through the country, and on one occasion carried 
their lunch and spent the day beneath the trees in 
the woods. 

The day was a remarkably warm one for the sea- 
son of the year and when Herbert suggested it Agnes, 
whose love of nature was one of her strongest traits, 
was overjoyed. Together they ordered the refresh- 
ments and the other necessary equipments for the 
outing. 

As Herbert had made it a point to look after his 
business correspondence first of all, the trip for the 
woods was delayed. At ten o’clock he appeared, and 
the supplies, which had been nicely packed in baskets, 
were taken on with the hammocks and other para- 
phernalia. The young people, full of the spirit of the 
occasion, started on their way. 

According to previous arrangement, Grace Borden 
and her friend, Arthur Brent, who had been invited 
to accompany them, were in readiness as they drove 
up. They had been given strict orders not to prepare 
anything in the way of lunch, as they were to be 
guests, so the stop was of short duration and the 
drive was continued. 

As they entered the woods Grace uttered a cry of 
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Clt?a&etf) Crane 


admiration at the beauty of the trees and again later 
as they neared the beautiful site they had selected for 
their outing. 

Trees were found where hammocks could be swung, 
and while the men were busy at this, the ladies were 
getting better acquainted with each other. 

Heavy blankets were spread on the grass and 
several camp chairs were placed under the trees. 
Herbert and Arthur soon joined them, and for an 
hour the conversation was general. 

After spreading a table cloth on one of the blankets 
they arranged the good things, while the men re- 
mained as spectators. Many witticisms were indulged 
in as they ate, and their laughter might have been 
heard miles away. 

A farmer going by with a load of watermelons, less 
than a hundred feet from where they sat, stopped, 
climbed down from his seat and picking out a nice 
melon, came forward with it in his arms and said: 
“Do you ever eat watermelons? You will find this a 
good one,” and laying it down he took a long knife 
and proceeded to cut it in generous pieces. 

“There, have one on me,” he said as he laughed 
heartily. Everybody joined in with him; it seemed 
to be contagious. 

“You are a jolly old soul, and we thank you for 
this treat,” said Herbert. 

“Yes,” said Agnes, “have a slice of it with us ; we 
will enjoy it better if we eat it with the giver,” and 
she motioned for him to sit on the grass by her side. 

He hesitated a moment and Grace said: “Yes, sit 
down or I won’t eat a bite. There, that is right,” 
as he sat down. They all insisted that he enjoy 
their lunch with them. 


119 


Clifafietf) Crane 


“I want to say, you are having a mighty good 
time here and I heard you back there a hundred 
rods or more. Do you like chestnuts? There’s some 
back in the woods about a quarter of a mile. The 
frosts these mornings are opening them up good.” 

“Of course we like them and we will all go after 
them as soon as Arthur plays us a few pieces on the 
mandolin,” said Grace. 

“Oh, no, I can’t play,” said Arthur: “let us go 
after the chestnuts first.” 

“No; we won’t move a step until you play that 
quickstep. It’s the dearest thing,” said Grace, turn- 
ing to the rest. 

“Oh, then, we will have to hear it, of course,” said 
Agnes, “now while our friend is here,” as the farmer 
had arisen preparatory to leaving. “Won’t you wait a 
little while,” and she touched his sleeve. 

“Well, I don’t mind if you don’t,” as he seated 
himself on one of the camp stools. 

Arthur had gone for his mandolin and was coming 
back from the auto testing the strings and winding 
those that were a little out of tune. He took one of 
the camp stools, seated himself and began to play. 
The piece was a lively two-step, and the instant he 
began, the farmer’s legs began to move sideways and 
in a moment more he was on his feet. Moving a 
little away from the rest he began to dance, and the 
way he stepped around was a caution. His long legs 
swung this way and that, his coat tails were in the 
air and his elbows were akimbo. 

The shout that went up from the spectators was 
loud and long. Arthur never played better and dared 
not stop for fear the farmer would, so he kept on 
playing. Agnes and Grace were clapping their hands, 


,120 


©Ii?a6ctft Crane 


keeping time to the music, and Herbert was holding 
his sides. 

Arthur changed the music to a waltz and the farmer 
motioned, still dancing, for Agnes to join him, which 
she did, while Herbert took Grace by the arm at a 
little distance and then all together the dance con- 
tinued while Arthur did the calling. At last he 
stopped the music, out of sympathy for the old man, 
and they all resumed their seats except the farmer, 
who said: “I thank you all for this pleasure, and I 
hope to see you all again some time. I must be get- 
ting along now/’ and taking his big straw hat in his 
hand bowed his adieu. 

“Oh, the pleasure has been ours/’ Agnes called 
after him. 

Agile as a squirrel, he mounted his wagon, cracked 
his whip and with a last wave of his hand to the 
picnickers, was gone. 

“Did you ever see dancing like that?” said Agnes, 
and they all laughed heartily as they remembered 
his high stepping. 

After this the young people started out in the search 
for chestnuts and found them much nearer than the 
farmer had told them. The big nuts had fallen in 
abundance the night before, and they soon had all they 
could carry. 

On their return they gathered some autumn leaves 
and some goldenrod, which grew in great abundance. 

It was at least three o’clock when they reached 
their camping place, and after another half hour spent 
happily together they started for home. 

They left Grace and Arthur at the Borden home, 
and they drove to the office to see if there was any 
mail that needed answering. Finding none but that 


121 


6U5a&etf) Crane 


could wait till the morrow, they proceeded to the 
home of Agnes. 

In the days that followed during the beautiful au- 
tumn weather, Agnes and Herbert were much in 
each other’s society. They were drawn together by a 
common bond of sympathy, that pity that makes “the 
whole world kin.” Herbert pitied her for her loneli- 
ness, and her tender heart was full of sympathy for 
his deep disappointment, but she dared not express 
it in words. 

Her promise had been given that she would not, 
and so her lips were sealed, but in a thousand name- 
less ways, she sought with womanly delicacy to divert 
the current of his thoughts into more cheerful chan- 
nels, and in a large measure, she succeeded. 

One morning when the woods were aglow with 
crimson and gold, Herbert invited her to go for a 
drive with him. She readily assented, and soon they 
were on the way, drinking in the invigorating morn- 
ing air, fragrant with the familiar odor that comes 
from a touch of frost on luxuriant vegetation. 

They rode for some time in silence, in that perfect 
comradeship where speech is not always needed. 

“Agnes,” said Herbert at last, “we have a long 
drive ahead of us. I have a matter of business to 
attend to that we did not wish to transact by mail, 
in a little town fifteen miles away, and I have asked 
you to come with me that we might have a long 
talk together. Is the prospect agreeable to you?” 

“Yes indeed, Herbert,” she answered simply, and 
the light in her eyes confirmed the truth of her words. 

He had been thinking deeply for the last few days, 
holding communion, as it were, with his own heart, 
and he had resolved to ask Agnes Coleman to be his 


122 


Crane 


wife. He felt for her that deep and tender respect 
that a man must feel always for a good woman, espe- 
cially situated as she was. 

And he knew, without any undue egotism, that her 
feeling for him was deeper than the mere friendship 
of their earlier years. 

They rode slowly along in silence for a time en- 
joying the beauty of river and hill and “the flaming 
banners of the forest.” 

“Agnes, it seems to me that we have always known 
each other, always been comrades. The years that 

have passed since you left B seem to have closed 

over each other as the waters of the Red Sea rushed 
together after the Egyptians had passed through.” 

“Israelites,” corrected Agnes. “The Egyptians 
only went about half way across, you remember.” 

“Thanks, I am afraid I have forgotten some of the 
things I learned while in good Dr. Brown’s Sunday 
school class in that dear, little church on Pine Street.” 

He stopped suddenly and a look of pain crossed 
his face, for Elizabeth had been in that class, and her 
sweet face and deep truthful eyes came up before him 
and it was with difficulty he suppressed a groan, but 
as Agnes had been away so long she could not know 
of this and the Sunday afternoons they spent together, 
of those long walks in shady paths in company with 
other young people. How sweet the remembrance, 
yet how inexpressibly sad. 

He conquered his emotion at last by a brave ef- 
fort and, turning his face again toward Agnes, he 
said in a low voice that he tried to make steady : 

“Agnes, I want to lay my heart bare before you. 
I have told you of my love for Elizabeth Crane and 
of its unhappy ending. I am trying with all a man’s 

123 


CII?at>et!) Crane 


power of will to forget her. I must, for she is prob- 
ably the wife of another. I do not know that this is 
so, but at least she told me I must forget her as she 
was engaged to another. 

“My mother is my only correspondent in B , 

and I made her promise before I left that she would 
never refer to her in her letters. My dear mother and 
you, Agnes, are the only ones to whom I have told my 
sad story/’ 

“Have you no idea, Herbert, of the name of the 
man to whom she is engaged?” 

“None whatever, Agnes.” 

If despair and agony of heart were ever written on 
a human face, they were written on his. 

“The terrible mystery makes it hard to understand 
and harder to bear.” 

“Did you not ask his name? Surely you had a 
right to do that.” 

“No, no, she told me that if I loved her I would 
ask no questions and that sealed my lips, for I did 
love her and, God help me, I do yet.” 

Tears welled up into Agnes’ violet eyes and she 
laid her small, white hand on his arm. 

“Herbert, don’t speak of it if it pains you so much.” 

“I must, Agnes, for in this way only can I ever 
overcome the past. I am a very domestic man. I 
know what a happy home is, for my father and mother 
were especially happy in theirs, and I want one for 
myself. While I cannot forget the past in so short 
a time I feel sure that with the lapse of time and with 
your sweet womanliness and companionship, the wound 
will heal over and I will be able to live down this 
bereavement that has fallen upon me.” 

He spoke bravely, but Agnes knew how deeply the 

124 


CIi?a&etf) Crane 


shaft of sorrow had sunk into his heart, and she laid 
her hand on his arm, he took it in his own and went 
on : 

“I want you to be my wife ; I will try, Oh, so hard 
to make you happy, and in so doing I am sure to be 
happy myself. I cannot say to you the words in 
truth which should accompany a request of this kind, 
but I hope to prove to you the sincerity of my mo- 
tives. Tell me, Agnes, my old school mate, will you 
marry me?” 

‘‘Dear Herbert, are you sure you will not regret this 
step? Remember, I am your senior by at least three 
years, and you might tire of me and that would 
break my heart. I could not endure it. I have al- 
ways contended that true happiness cannot exist with- 
out love, and you do not love me. The marriage 
bond, with only pity as a holding power, cannot last, 
and this is, without exception, the most deplorable state 
for a human heart. Consider it well, my friend, for 
everything depends upon it. You cannot know how 
anxious I am to be of real assistance to you in helping 
you to forget this sorrow, nor how happy it would 
make me to be sure that you will love me in time. 
How true is the saying of old: ‘Love to a man is a 
thing, a part ; ’tis woman’s whole existence.’ Do you 
realize this, Herbert?” 

“Perhaps, not wholly; still my desire to have you 
with me always is not a selfish one. We are both 
lonely and need companionship. I want you to trust 
me, Agnes, and may He deal with me as I shall 
deal with you. You are very dear to me even now, 
and I cannot but believe that a nearer relationship 
between us will mean the uniting of our hearts until 
love supreme shall take the place of what now may be 

*25 


Clisa&etj} Crane 


only pity. Will you not trust me, dear heart ?” And 
he took both of her hands in his and looked beseech- 
ingly into her eyes which were about to overflow with 
the tears of happiness that could result in only one 
answer. 

“Yes, Herbert, I will marry you, for I love you 
already, and have for a long time. I will trust you, 
for indeed what is love without trust; they are the 
same although spelled differently. Is it not true ?” 

“I believe you are right, Agnes; but I have never 
thought of it in that light before. Love is trust, but 
trust is not always love, is it?” 

“Only in matters pertaining to the heart, I should 
say,” said Agnes. 

“You are right again. I can see that we will get 
along nicely,” and he took her face between his hands 
and kissed her tenderly on the lips. 


126 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE PLANS. 

“Agnes,” said Herbert a week later, as they sat to- 
gether in the music room of her home, “will you not 
name the day when I can call you my own ? Have you 
given it a thought?” 

“Of course, Herbert. I have given it a great deal 
of thought, and if you are ready to hear my plans, 
which you must know are subject to change, so that 
they may coincide with yours, I will tell you what I 
have thought out.” 

“I am ready, dear, to hear you, and I am willing 
to agree to them even before I have heard what they 
are.” 

“Oh, don’t be so sure; you know I drive hard 
bargains, sometimes.” 

“Yes, I know; but they are just, I can say that 
for them. I know and feel that I have your best love 
and also that you will not do nor say anything that 
is not for our best interests.” 

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear you say 
that, Herbert; confidence is the strongest point in the 
achievement of true happiness. If we can but carry 
out this idea in every act of our daily lives, we will 
succeed in getting the most and best out of it.” 

“Nothing can be truer than these words, Agnes, 
and nothing I may say will make them stronger.” 

“This is what I have thought out: I must go to 

127 


<2BU?afietft Crane 


Chicago for perhaps a month, to visit a friend, Mrs. 
Cornell, and while there will have my trousseau made 
ready. She has a dressmaker whom she recommends 
very highly, and I have had so much trouble in get- 
ting anything made here. Then we will be married 
on Christmas day, here in my home, and as my good 
father has been gone less than a year I would prefer 
the wedding should be a very quiet affair, with only 
the closest friends and relatives present. I wonder if 
you could not induce your father and mother to come 
to the wedding, also your brother George, his wife, 
and that sweet baby you have told me about ? Albert, 
of course, will be here with his family.” 

“I think so, Agnes; it will do father a world of 
good to rest awhile and take a vacation. He never 
goes anywhere, and there is no one at home to hinder, 
for you know I am the youngest member of the family. I 
will do the best I can to try and persuade him to come. 
I have not told them the good news yet, I was so 
afraid I might awaken and find I had been asleep; 
besides, what will they all think of my getting married 
after what they know about my disappointment?” 

The thoughts that began to rush through his brain 
caused him to hesitate in his speech and, despite the 
effort to hide them, his eyes filled with tears. 

This move was not unnoticed by Agnes and her 
first impulse was to take no notice of it. Is this help- 
ing him to forget, she thought? No, it is on just 
such occasions that my help is most needed. These, 
the moments, when the proper words from me which 
must drive the thought of Elizabeth Crane from 
his mind, should be spoken. 

“Herbert,” said she, “how is Mr. Borden getting 
along with the new shaft at the mine?” 

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©n^a&ctf) Crane 


He gave her a glance and realized instantly the 
reason for the question, but keen enough to know 
better than to appear to notice it, answered : 

“The progress so far has been very satisfactory. 
The depth reached is, in the neighborhood of fifteen 
feet. There is no telling just the depth necessary 
to reach the coal bed, but we think it is nearly thirty 
feet from the surface. It is our intention, be it 
thirty or ninety feet, to carry it down beyond the 
first bed with the hopes of disclosing another and more 
profitable bed. The building over the shaft is about 
finished and the hoisting engine is in place and lifting 
loads of loose earth out of the excavation.” 

“I would like to go to the mines once more before I 
leave. Yo do not mind if I go with you?” 

“Certainly not, Agnes. I would like to take you 
often, only it is not work that appeals to every woman. 
I believe you are different though, and still I hesitate 
to ask you for fear you will go when you would 
prefer not to do so.” 

“I admire your frankness more than your judg- 
ment when you talk like that. I am not especially flat- 
tered by the analysis you make of my likes and dis- 
likes in comparing me with other women.” 

“Excuse me, Anges, I said it out of consideration 
for you.” 

“I appreciate that, and yet, if there is one thing 
I would rather do than be with you I should like to 
know what it is. It indicates a lack of confidence 
which, as I said before, is most important.” She 
arose and placing her arm about his shoulders, kissed 
him. 

“You must blame my lack of knowledge for not 

129 


CU?a6et!} Crane' 


knowing how to deal with a truly good and sensible 
woman.” 

“I thank you, Herbert, for the compliment.” 

“I will always take you with me when I go to the 
mines, or anywhere else if you wish to go, and if you 
do not wish to go on account of inclement weather 
or any other reason, you must let me know frankly 
and I will not be offended.” 

“There will be very few times that I will stay at 
home. Now let me tell you more of my plans. After 
the wedding I want to suggest that we take a trip to 
California. Have you any objections to my plans, so 
far?” 

“Objections; you dear, good woman; I could not 
name a place I would rather spend our honeymoon 
than in that delightful climate. The other plans you 
have named, that is, the wedding day and the simple 
ceremony, are agreeable to me, and I will write home 
at once and give my parents the glad news.” 

He paused and took her hand. “What must you 
think of me, Agnes, for even while we are planning 
our wedding trip together the mere mention of that 
far-away village on the Connecticut River wrings a 
pain of anguish from my heart? Please forgive me, 
dear heart, and bear with me.” 

“I will, dear Herbert, for I know that you are try- 
ing to overcome it.” 

“Thank you, my good angel, I will try and not let 
it happen again.” 

They talked over other minor details of the wed- 
ding until the hour drew near for Herbert to return 
to the hotel, when he took his departure, promising 
to come for her at ten in the morning for a drive 
to the mines. 


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CU^a&etf) Ctane 


* The morning was clear and crisp and Herbert’s 
horses were full of mettle. Our friends drank in 
the health-giving air and their cheeks were aglow. 

Agnes was surprised to see the progress made at 
the mines and watched, with keen interest as the great 
loads of dirt were hoisted into trucks and then pushed 
up an incline to the top of a dump and there emptied. 
This operation, being repeated from morning until 
night, means the excavation of hundreds of tons, and 
the consequent deepening of the shaft which will, in 
time, reveal the wealth of coal hoped for. The fin- 
ishing touches were being applied to the shaft house 
and painters were at work covering the rough boards 
with a coat of paint. 

Mr. Borden came forward and, in his jolly way, 
made her feel perfectly at home and, as she rested 
her hand on the fence, which separated the tracks from 
a large dump, he espied the solitaire on her finger and 
said, with a laugh : “Aha ! that/' pointing to the ring, 
“explains things. Permit me to congratulate you 
both. You have a good friend’s fatherly blessing. 
What a sly boy you are, to be sure. Oh, you need 
not blush, my good woman, you have chosen well. 
Mr. Crofton is true blue,” as he grasped her hand. 
“The best of luck, is my worst wish for you both. 
Mother will be glad to know this,” and he put his hand 
on Herbert’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Mr. Borden, your good wishes are 
highly appreciated.” 

“I also most heartily thank you, Mr. Borden,” 
said Agnes as they took their seats in the carriage 
and drove home. 

The Sunday service had just been dismissed and 
H3I 


<2II?a&etl) Ctaite 


Herbert and Agnes were returning to her home. The 
day was beautiful and the handsome display of fall 
millinery that adorned the heads of the ladies as they 
emerged from the church was a startling sight. The 
sun, although considerably to the north at noonday, 
tempered the weather, so as to make it exceedingly ’ 
balmy as its ray struck the pavement on which they 
were walking. 

The little distance of five short blocks was as 
nothing to them, so buoyant were their hearts on this, 
the day of rest. Their cup of happiness was full to the 
brim though not a word was spoken. As they ap- 
proached the house, he took her arm and the pressure 
he gave it was more eloquent than a long discourse 
could have been. Their eyes met and Herbert said: 
“Sweetheart, in less than two months you will be my 
wife. The happiness that is in store for us shall 
be my beacon light when you are away from me.” 

“If you will let that be your motto,” said she, 

“I am sure that you will not feel the time to be so 
long. I will look for a letter from you every day, 
and Oh, how I shall enjoy them.” 

“And I, dear Agnes, will derive a great deal of 
pleasure in the writing of them.” 

They walked on past the beautiful home and drank 
in the magnificence of its appointments. 

After dinner Herbert proposed a long drive in the 
country and with a couple of robes to keep out the 
cold of the evening, should they be late returning, 
they left for a ride in gay spirits. The handsome 
grays were in fine fettle to-day and, as they drove in a 
southerly direction, they were enabled to have the top 
down without the discomfort of having the sun in 
their eyes. 


132 


©li^atictf) Ctarte 


Herbert took much interest in noting the locality of 
several coal mines which could be seen, and while he 
could not tell as to the output of them, convenience of 
the shipping facilities of his own mine in compari- 
son with those he saw was very gratifying to him. 

Agnes loved to watch the curious course of the river 
along the bank of which they were driving and 
watched the flight of the king-fishers as they would 
fly back and forth up and down the river. Now and 
then one would dive do^n, barely touching the water, 
would rise again carrying in its claws a fish it had 
caught. 

A small village some fifteen miles away was their 
destination. This was reached, as Herbert expected, 
about four o’clock, when after a short rest for the 
horses and a lunch for themselves they returned home. 
Herbert chose another route a little to the west of 
the other road and on the opposite side of the river. 

The drive home was fully as interesting as the out- 
ward trip, and their little heart-to-heart visits were 
thoroughly enjoyed by both of them. 

After dinner was over that evening they went to 
the music room. The conversation drifted to matters 
pertaining to the wedding day. All the little details 
were discussed and nothing was omitted that would 
make the occasion a pleasant and happy one. 

Later, Agnes arose and from her desk she brought 
a small box neatly tied with blue ribbon. She sat 
watching him for a time, as he was reading a late 
magazine; at last he laid it down and she said: 

“Herbert, this is your birthday; you are twenty- 
three to-day. Please accept this pin as a token of 
my love for you and with the wish that you may live 

133 


Clna&etl) Crane 


to see many more happy anniversaries/’ She handed 
him the small package. 

Herbert took it from her hand and, without open- 
ing it, placed it on a chair near by. He then arose, 
took her hand and held it. 

“Agnes,” he said, “your goodness overpowers me. 
Why are you so good to me?” 

“Because I love you, Herbert. Is that not reason 
enough? Open the box, dear, I want to see how you 
like it.” 

“You have done too much for me already.” 

“No, no, Herbert, not that. You will surely not 
refuse a small birthday remembrance from me.” 

“No, Agnes, I could not do that, but I know I can 
never repay you.” 

“Oh, yes, you can and many times over, I am 
sure.” 

He kissed the hand he held tenderly and opened 
the box. The blaze of light that reflected a thousand 
rays from a chandelier above their heads was a 
pretty sight and those lights were all reflected in his 
eyes as he looked at her. 

“Agnes,” he said, “I am speechless,” and he sat 
with his eyes upon her beautiful face. 

After a moment she took his face in her hands 
and said: “Do not try to thank me. I have my re- 
ward; that look in your eye is worth a thousand 
such presents. 

“I will take the train that leaves at eight-thirty in 
the morning. When may I look for you to come and 
see me, Herbert ?” 

“I’ll try and come every two weeks. Is that too 
often ?” 

“You know it is not. You must come so as to 

T 34v 


©U^atieti) ctatie 


spend one Sunday. I want to go with you to see those 
pretty children, Jim and Dorothy, and Sunday is the 
only day Albert has at home you know/’ 

“I will come any time that will suit you, my good 
angel. It is getting late and I must be going. I will 
see you at the train,” and he kissed her as he left the 
room. 

The next morning Agnes left for Chicago, where 
she had many warm friends. 


135 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE PLEASURE TRIP. 

The long letters Herbert wrote each day were the 
means of diverting his mind from the unpleasant recol- 
lections which would force themselves upon him, de- 
spite all efforts on his part to avoid it. His determina- 
tion to make his letters cheerful and happy, caused 
him to experience no little of that feeling. 

Her letters also were filled to the brim with interest 
in his welfare and success, and with them before him 
he received the inspiration of her lightness of heart. 

His duties at the office also were crowding upon 
him to such an extent that he felt it his duty to be 
up and doing earlier in the morning. 

Time went on and the shaft had gradually reached 
the coal, and in cutting through it, the bed was found 
to be much thicker than was expected. No time was 
lost in putting on help enough to work the whole 
width of the bed in the direction of the old shaft and, 
within a week from the time the coal was found the 
output was in the neighborhood of a hundred tons a 
day. This was increased to five hundred tons by the 
end of another month, making the financial outlook 
very satisfactory. 

The time had come for Herbert to make his first 
visit to Agnes. Arranging his office affairs so the 
business would not suffer by his absence, he left on 

136 


(ZBU^afietf) Crane 


the afternoon train and in due time reached the city 
of C . 

Agnes was at the station to meet him. They drove 
through the busy streets of the great metropolis and 
later through the handsome boulevards of the resi- 
dential district, on the way to her friend’s home. The 
trip had been all too short for them after their sepa- 
ration of two weeks, and not a moment was lost. 

“Mrs. Cornell,” said Agnes, “I am glad to intro- 
duce niy very dear friend, Herbert Crofton. Herbert, 
this is my friend, Mrs. Cornell.” 

She reached forward and took his hand, shaking it 
heartily. 

“I am pleased to know you, Mr. Crofton; you are 
most welcome, I assure you. Agnes has told me of 
you and the friendship that has been renewed after a 
lapse of fourteen years.” 

Her cordiality had done much to make Herbert feel 
at ease. A continuous flow of conversation was in- 
dulged in, as they sat before the large, open fireplace, 
when Mrs. Cornell arose, and with a nod to Herbert, 
excused herself. 

Left alone they planned for the morrow, which was 
Sunday. Of course they would spend the day with Al- 
bert and his family. Agnes was more than eager to 
see the children of whom she had heard so much. 
Herbert had written his brother they would be there 
so the children were on the qui vive, for they dearly 
loved their Uncle Herbert. Albert would listen to no 
other arrangement but that they must have dinner at 
his home. He lived in the suburbs where the children 
could have the benefit of the fresh air and the free- 
dom they so much needed. 

They left Mrs. Cornell’s home about ten o’clock and 

137 


Crane 


planned the drive so as to give Herbert a chance to 
see the beauties of the city and to reach his brother's 
home near the noon hour. 

Little Jim was on the front gate and Dorothy was 
playing with her dolly. All at once Jim espied the 
carriage coming around the bend in the road. He 
set up a war-whoop, which was heard by the occupants 
in the carriage, and Dorothy, dropping her doll on 
the walk, mounted the gate and together they waited 
and called him, saying: “Here comes Uncle Herbert; 
here comes Uncle Herbert," at the top of their voices, 
keeping it up with all the vigor of their young lungs 
until Herbert stepped from the carriage. He ran 
to them and kissed them and lifted them to the ground. 
With one holding each hand, he returned to the car- 
riage and helped Agnes to alight. When the children 
saw the stranger they shrank behind a large elm tree, 
but not for long. Dorothy came forth first and Her- 
bert said: “Dorothy, shake hands with your Aunt 
Agnes; and Jim, where are you? Come here, you 
little rascal. This lady won’t bite you ; come and shake 
hands with her." 

He came forth reluctantly and stood behind Herbert 
with his head down. Agnes went to him and stoop- 
ing, kissed him, saying: “Oh, you are not afraid of 
your Aunt Agnes, are you? Come, take my hand." 

He did so and walked meekly by her side until 
they came to the steps of the porch, then bounding 
ahead, called out: “Here’s Uncle Herbert and Aunt 
Agnes. Oh, mother, come quick," and he ran into 
the. house. 

Ethel met them at the door, and, between trying 
to keep the children still and listening to Herbert, 
she was soon introduced to Agnes Coleman. 

138 


©U^a&etJ) Ctan'ei 


“Did you ever see such savages ?” she asked, smiling. 

Here Albert came forward and Herbert’s attempt 
to acquaint him with Agnes was even less success- 
ful. He shook hands with both and led the way to 
the pretty living room and before Herbert could be 
seated the two children were having a merry battle in 
the effort to be the first one on his knees. Dorothy 
being a little the taller of the two, succeeded in perch- 
ing herself on the right arm of the chair and Jim was 
obliged to content himself on the left. The position 
was too tame to last long, and almost quicker than 
it takes to tell it, their arms were about his neck and 
they were kissing him on the face and forehead. 

Albert attempted to come to the rescue and com- 
manded them to be more quiet or he would send them 
out in the back yard to play. His intention was to be 
real stern with them, but the look Jim gave him in 
return, and the extraordinary meekness he displayed, 
disarmed the father and a faint smile was discernible 
on his face. This caused Jim to redouble his antics 
and Albert was powerless to check him. The laughter 
caused by the children’s hilarity and by Herbert’s 
patience was, to say the least, good for the blues. 

Agnes, after several futile attempts, succeeded in 
inducing, first Dorothy to come and visit with her, and 
later Jim, but Herbert held himself in readiness to 
check them if their demonstrations should become too 
pronounced. 

Thus it was until the dinner was announced by 
“Aunt Sally.” They were the whole play and little 
in the way of their personal affairs was discussed, 
much to the relief of their finer sensibilities. 

The call to dinner caused them to slide to the floor, 
and with Dorothy holding the hand of Herbert and 

139 


Crane 


.Jim with Agnes, they were led to the table. It took 
some ingenious argument to induce the children to 
occupy their usual places instead of seats by the side 
of their respective partners. It was a hint from Agnes 
that finally decided them. 

“After dinner, if you are real good, I have some- 
thing nice to show you.” They hesitated a moment 
and, taking the half promise for a whole one, they 
took their places on the opposite side of the table. 

The elegant dinner was thoroughly enjoyed by all. 
The curiosity of Jim and Dorothy would prove too 
much for them sometimes, and their pleading to be 
told in advance what Aunt Agnes had for them was 
met with the disheartening information that if they 
were too inquisitive she might not be able to find the 
things. 

After the last course was served their patience could 
be checked no longer. Agnes, with the rest, arose 
from the table and with the two children first, and the 
others following, she led the way to the front porch 
and pointed, first, to a handsome doll carriage in which 
was the most beautiful wax doll, and then to a large, 
red wagon with two seats. 

The astonishment depicted on the faces of the young- 
sters was a marvelous combination of pathos and 
happiness which it would be hard to describe. 

Dorothy, who was always first to make up with 
strangers, was the first now to recover and, throwing 
her arms about Agnes, drew her face down and kissed 
her, saying: “Oh, Aunt Agnes, how good you are 
to give me such a pretty dolly, and such a nice car- 
riage, too,” and she kissed her again. Relaxing her 
hold she looked at the doll with a radiant smile on her 
beautiful face. 


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Jim, a little more matter of fact, lifted the tongue 
of the wagon, drew it forward a little and then backed 
it against the wall. Droppng the handle, he ran to 
Agnes, who was free now, and duplicated the embraces 
given her by Dorothy. “Oh, you are the bestest 
Auntie, and I love you a whole lot.” 

The joy of seeing the pleasure on her children’s 
faces, brought tears to Ethel’s eyes and she did her 
best to hide them, looking the thankfulness she felt, 
as Agnes caught her eye. 

Albert, though quick to appreciate the situation, 
was the slower in making his feelings perceptible. He 
at last picked the children up, one after the other, 
and pressed them to his bosom. 

And Herbert, what shall we say of him? The 
surprise to him was just as complete as it had been 
to the others. Agnes had purchased the things during 
the week, saying nothing about them to Herbert. She 
had instructed the coachman’s assistant to follow with 
the presents in another conveyance. He must keep 
the carriage in sight, and while they were at dinner, 
he must place the presents on the front porch. 

The whole plan had worked out so nicely that he 
could not believe his eyes at first. The demonstration 
the children were making seemed to be genuine enough 
and he tried to figure it out, but could not. 

“Herbert,” said Agnes, “I see that you are as much 
surprised as the rest. Will you help Jim down with his 
wagon ? I think he would like very much to have you 
pull him around in it, and in the meantime I want to 
see the ‘Pawtuxit’ river you have told me about.” 
At the mention of that river, Jim cried out: “Yes, 
Uncle Herbert, quick, you have not seen the dam we 
have built across the river.” He helped lift the wagon, 

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and with Dorothy pushing the carriage, they all made 
for the back yard where that river was. 

Placing her arm in his, Agnes walked by the side 
of Herbert as they made a complete circuit of the 
house and again to the garden when the rest had 
stopped at the grape vines. Jim leaped to the ground 
and called to Agnes, as he disappeared around the end 
of the vines. 

“Aunt Agnes, here is the ‘Pawtuxif river,” and 
as she looked at it, the air of satisfaction on Jim’s 
face over his achievement was a pleasure to see as he 
stood with his hands behind his back. 

After watching the children for awhile they found 
seats in the lawn swing and in chairs brought from the 
house. Herbert told of the renewal of their friend- 
ship, his and Agnes’, that had its beginning so many 
years ago and recalled, with Albert, the old school 
house on “Potato Lane.” These were most happy 
reminiscences and all, even Ethel, who had not seen 
that school house, was particularly interested. 

Thus the afternoon melted away, and when the car- 
riage came for our friends, the regrets were out- 
spoken and sincere over their departure, but with the 
promise to see them all again soon, Herbert and Agnes 
were driven back to the city. 


142 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE WEDDING. 

Time went on apace and Christmas, with the joy- 
ous festivities, was here, and the time for the wedding, 
to which we have been looking forward, came with it. 

No perceptible change had taken place between Her- 
bert and Agnes. The little moods of melancholy and 
the feelings of unworthiness in regard to the love of 
this good woman were of nearly fortnightly occur- 
rence, but her perseverance and tact were equal to the 
demand, and by one way and another, she dispelled 
them entirely or bridged them over without any seri- 
ous impairment to their friendship. 

Herbert had written and told his parents of the con- 
templated change in his domestic relation. Whether 
they were surprised or not at his change of heart, 
they had the generosity not to mention it in any way. 
All had expressed their willingness and gladness to 
accept the invitation and were now guests of Herbert 
at his hotel. 

The preparations for the wedding had been com- 
pleted and Herbert, who had arranged for a two 
months’ absence, was on hand to assist in the enter- 
tainment of his people. To-day, the last before the 
wedding, he took Agnes to meet his people. 

It was a happy reunion, the bringing together of all 
this family with their wives and children, of which 
we know there are three. 


<JBU?a6et|) Crane 


All were in ecstasies over George’s baby, Helen 
Mary. It was in vain they all attempted by various 
means to coax her to let them hold her. Her prefer- 
ence for Uncle Herbert was amusing, although he 
could not hold her nor kiss her only on the top of the 
head. Agnes fared no better than the rest, though she 
came well armed for the fray, so to speak. The pres- 
ents and candy, while enough to get her on her knee, 
were not enough to keep her an instant after she had 
them in her possession. 

While the children were playing, the final arrange- 
ments for the wedding were announced. The cere- 
mony was set for nine the next morning, to be followed 
by a wedding breakfast, after which the newly wedded 
couple would start on their contemplated trip. 

The relatives of Herbert were so pleased to think 
that he had won so charming a woman for his wife. 
They all realized, before she departed for home that 
evening, what a sweet, true character she was. 

At the Coleman residence everything was astir at 
an early hour the next morning. The preparations 
for the wedding were completed and the guests were 
beginning to arrive. These included only the immedi- 
ate members of both families, and Mr. Borden, his 
business partner, and his wife. 

A hushed silence was noticeable as the beautiful 
bride-elect appeared slowly walking down the magnifi- 
cent winding stairway on the arm of her brother. All 
eyes were upon her. She was tastefully dressed in a 
simply made princess of soft, white material. The 
beautiful ritual of the Episcopal church was used, and 
when the solemn and impressive ceremony was ended 
there was scarcely a dry eye among the little com- 
pany, excepting, perhaps, those of Jim and Doro- 

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thy, who danced about in all the happy abandon of 
childhood. 

Congratulations followed after the ceremony was 
over. Herbert’s father stepped forward, placed a 
hand on the shoulder of each and in a kindly voice 
said: “My children, accept a father’s blessing. You 
are young and your life is all before you. Remember 
that the requisites of a happy life are love, truth and 
forbearance. With these as your watchword, I con- 
gratulate and bid you Godspeed.” 

The wedding breakfast soon followed, after which 
they left on the noon train for their western trip. 

We will not follow them further. Enough to say 
that at the end of a very happy honeymoon they re- 
turned to their home, where Agnes had been greatly 
missed by her friends, and Herbert was much needed 
in his business. 




CHAPTER XIX. 


THE HUNGRY HEART. 

During the three months following the return of 
Herbert and Agnes from their wedding journey, the 
even tenor of the life they led was unclouded by aught 
that could mar in any marked degree the serenity of 
complete harmony. 

While Herbert had not made the declaration she 
so heartily craved, he had, by his kindness and con- 
sideration for her feelings, displayed a great deal of 
affection which acted as a balm to her hungry heart 
and caused her to believe he loved her even though 
he would not say in words that he did. 

Her love for him had not diminished one iota; in- 
stead, it had grown stronger as the days passed and 
the absence, in his phrases of endearment, of the 
words ; “1 love you, Agnes,” were, and ever would be, 
the sword that hung above her head. 

She had not tried by word of mouth to get him to 
say the words nor had she displayed outwardly the 
hunger of her heart. She must wait, and that pa- 
tiently, until he of his own accord should utter them. 

Nothing was lacking in the convenience of the home. 
The servants were models of neatness and the ability 
they displayed in the performance of their duties was 
a gratification to them. 

The friends who came to their home were of the 
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most prominent and cultured people in the city, and 
many were the good times enjoyed, when of an 
evening a jolly party of young people would come in. 
The games, the theatricals and candy pullings were 
the means of making their home very popular. 

Herbert was the life of the entertainment, and his 
laughter could be heard above all the rest. Not that it 
was boisterous, but it was of that frank, good-natured 
variety that Agnes had always enjoyed so much when 
on the drives they used to make about the country. 

Agnes was especially liked because of her ability 
to plan the games and charades so as to add the 
variety necessary, also for her hospitality, her happy 
disposition and her sweetness of character. 

Invitations were out for a social gathering of a 
little larger proportion than usual and preparations 
were going on apace. Hundreds of choice flowers had 
arrived and were being arranged in the vases on the 
mantels, tables and niches in the walls. The great 
logs in the fireplaces were unusually bright and 
pretty. Large palms, with their wide leaves, were 
abundantly distributed in every room. An orchestra 
of six pieces had been engaged to furnish music for 
the occasion and canvas covered the floor of the din- 
ing-room. Covers were laid for forty people and the 
dining-room, with its hand painting and cut glass, 
was a beautiful sight. 

Everything was in readiness and there was an hour 
to spare before the guests would begin to arrive. They 
dropped into a divan and Agnes said: “How happy 
we should be, dear, with so many good friends. Mrs. 
Borden is such a sweet character.” 

“Yes, Agnes, they are both as good as gold. He 
is always the same, never ruffled over anything, and 

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always ready with a smile to help those in distress. 
Only a month ago an order for ten tons of coal was 
received at the office. The cash accompanied the or- 
der and as I looked for the purchaser’s name, I found 
none, but in its place was the words ‘A Friend.” The 
coal was to be delivered to a small church on the 
east side. My curiosity was aroused and I did a 
little investigating. I found that the church was hav- 
ing a hard time to get along, and the congregation was 
unable to buy the coal necessary for the services. I 
also found that Mr. Borden, through one of the lady 
members, had learned of the fact, hence the order. He 
must not know that I am aware of this or he might 
resent my inquisitiveness. I only mention it as an 
illustration of the noble character he possesses.” 

“It was nice of him and, of course, he did not wish 
to have it known. I will make it a point to see what I 
can do to help them.” 

“You are to make use of my check book at any 
and all times you wish to do so for the purpose,” 
said Herbert. 

“I will, Herbert, and have in no small degree.” 

“I am glad,” and he pressed her hand : “how good 
you are.” 

“Brave little woman,” he thought, “to love such a 
brute as I. She deserves better.” 

Promptly at eight the orchestra opened the program 
with a soft selection from Mozart and simultaneously 
the carriages were heard in the street. Agnes, by 
the side of Herbert, in a beautiful creamy white crea- 
tion, a string of pearls around her neck and a large 
sunburst was in her hair. 

Proud, indeed, was Herbert of her as they passed 
through the rooms, greeting their guests. 

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“Mr. and Mrs. Belmont Perkinson,” announced the 
servant as that handsome couple came through the 
doors and advanced toward the host and hostess, 
who stood there to greet them. 

“Mr. and Mrs. William Borden” were next, and 
so on without intermission, until all had arrived. The 
music was changed to give the variety, but along the 
same mellow strain that, while it adds life, does not 
interrupt the flow of subdued conversation which now 
was in progress everywhere. 

Later, dancing was indulged in until the “wee sma’ 
hours.” They then departed, having enjoyed a most 
delightful evening, and left with many expressions of 
the gracious hospitality of the host and hostess. 

After the guests were all gone she sat in a deep 
study for a few moments, as though she had something 
she wanted to say. At last she spoke. 

“Herbert, can you not say truthfully and with the 
sacredness of that prayer you once spoke at your good 
mother’s knee and with the conviction that it is out of 
the depths of your inmost soul, those words which 
will make me the happiest woman on earth, ‘I love 
you.’ ” 

Herbert bowed his head and was silent. The an- 
guish that was in his heart at the pleading of this good 
woman was like the thrust of a dagger to the quick. 

“I know that you love me. Can you not have faith 
in me yet a little longer; would your love for me be 
as staunch and steadfast if I could so soon forget the 
love I held most dear? Bear with me, Agnes, and 
consider this matter from my point of view. Oh, 
Agnes, it hurts me here.” And he placed his hand 
over his heart. “I will try and make you under- 
staad, for you have the right, loving me as you do.” 

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“Herbert, you shall not say more. I am selfish. 
I have let my own selfish desires get the better of 
my judgment. It was unkind of me to press the ques- 
tion. Forgive me, Herbert.” And the tears that stood 
in her eyes unshed, at last burst forth, and she dropped 
on her knees at his feet. The sobs that shook her 
slender frame could not have but melted the hardest 
heart. 

He stroked her head, and his own eyes filled at 
her anguish of heart. After a little while he took 
her by the hand and said : 

“Come, Agnes, you have allowed yourself to be- 
come overwrought. I wish to say this, though, you 
have not asked more than is your right, but I am 
powerless to give you the words in truth. I know 
nothing else would satisfy your noble nature. Have 
a little more patience and I am sure the day is not 
far off when you will have your heart’s desire.” 

He kissed the lingering tears away and she smiled 
bravely. 


CHAPTER XX. 


RESTLESSNESS. 

Herbert’s business had now increased to such an 
extent that he could not take care of it himself. He 
must have capable and trustworthy assistants and, 
having them, he felt that they could do all the work 
called for in the office. This being true, he could 
go and come at his will without the business suffering 
in the least. 

It was the same with Mr. Borden. He must, of 
necessity, leave some of his work in the hands of 
others, why not all? With strictly business methods, 
dishonesty of employees is practically impossible, and 
it will run itself. 

With this state of affair s, both had plenty of leisure 
to follow the dictates of their desires. 

Thus it was that a week or so after the ball, Herbert 
and Agnes each mounted on their favorite steed, left 
their beautiful home, “The Poplars,” and rode along 
the river at a canter. The early April wind blew past 
them with a rush and its kiss left rosy blushes on their 
fresh cold cheeks. The horses were so full of spirit 
that there was a keen enjoyment of enterprise in guid- 
ing them. The dangers of too high speed was ap- 
preciated, for the little patches of ice in the road was 
a reasonable cause for caution. 

The need of exercise for both horses and riders 
was the principal reason for their venturing out at this 

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Clfsa&et!) Ctanc 1 


time of the year. It required a watchful eye to select 
the safe places and little time could be taken for 
conversation; as a consequence, the ride was a some- 
what silent one. 

At the end of an hour they decided to return home, 
and this was done in the same silent manner, both feel- 
ing much better for the outing they had taken. 

Herbert helped Agnes to alight and, arm in arm, the 
two entered the house. 

Seating themselves near the grate fireplace in the 
library, they gazed at the burning embers, each lost 
in thought for a few moments. 

“Agnes, my good angel, how would you like to 
travel a little over this great country of ours ?” 

“I would be glad, Herbert, if it will please you, and 
we can go as well as not. You are not tied down 
to your business as you have been, and I am clay 
in the hands of my good husband. Would you like 
to go?” 

“I think so, but I am not quite sure. Our home 
is so comfortable, and the inconveniences of traveling, 
even under the best conditions, are not to be com- 
pared with it. I am a little restless, I must confess, 
and I am inclined to think a little outing would do us 
no harm, and it might do us a great deal of good.” 

“I expect you are right,” said Agnes. “I certainly 
have no objection. I love you so, that anything I 
can do to ease the restlessness that you confess is 
worth while.” 

“Then suppose we plan a trip to last three or four 
months,” said Herbert, “and we can get back here to 
spend the hot weather at home. Have you any choice 
as to the direction or places you wish to visit; if so, 

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name them, dear, and it shall be as you wish. It is 
quite immaterial to me.” 

'‘There is only one place that I can think of now 
I would prefer visiting for a short time, and that is 
with Aunt Ella on her husband’s ranch in southern Mis- 
souri. She has begged me to come and see her, and 
for one reason and another I have put it off. Would 
a little visit there be objectionable to you?” 

“Not in the least, my dear. I am glad to have 
you name a preference and besides I would enjoy im- 
mensely a little of ranch life. Tell me about it and of 
your aunt.” 

“There’s not much to tell, Herbert, she is a dear 
old soul, and she lived with us when I was a child 
and came west with us. I think you must have seen 
her. 

“Shortly afterwards she met a rich ranchman by the 
name of Silas Burke and later married him. That was 
about ten years ago, and I think they are very happy 
from what she writes. Her letters are always mailed 
the first of each month ; a good idea, by the way, for 
friends that are far apart. 

“His ranch consists of twelve hundred acres, and 
is located a little south of the center of the state. She 
made us a visit just after my poor mother passed away 
and tried to get me to go back with her. I would have 
gone only father wes so lonesome I could not bear 
to leave him. That is about all, except Mr. Burke was 
a widower with three fine boys when she married him. 
They are all grown now and two of them have fami- 
lies. They all think the world of Aunt Ella, and it is 
a happy family altogether. He gave each of the boys 
two hundred acres, together with a nice house upon 
it, and will do the same by the other when he marries, 

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which I understand will be soon. Do you think you 
will like it down there?” 

“Yes, I am sure I will and, perhaps, we will stay 
there all summer, if they will let us. It sounds good 
to me.” 

“It will be a change at any rate, and that is the 
main thing.” 

“The outdoor life will be the best thing on earth 
for me. I can see myself now riding over those hills 
on the little mustangs, and if they don’t break my neck 
I’ll be lucky.” 

“Oh, Herbert, don’t talk like that; it would kill 
me if you were hurt. Those little horses are dangerous 
if you are not accustomed to them. I’m afraid you 
will get reckless,” and she was half inclined to try 
and dissuade him from going. 

“Oh, dear, don’t be frightened; I won’t take any 
chances.” 

“Promise me, good and true, Herbert.” 

“All right, my good angel, I promise.” And he 
kissed her to seal the word he was giving her and 
she knew he would keep it. 

The following week was given up to the prepara- 
tions necessary for an extended trip. These were 
many and complex, but with the means at hand it 
was accomplished and, after a small farewell party 
given by their many friends at the home of Mr. Bor- 
den, Herbert and Agnes departed on their way. 

Herbert had, with the assistance of Mr. Borden, 
chosen those routes where the best possible service 
could be obtained with especial regard for their per- 
sonal comfort. While the schedule of places to be 
visited had been arranged, the length of the various 

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stops were left open to be determined upon as inclina- 
tion would dictate. 

With the ever-changing panorama through which 
they passed, Herbert managed to forget, in a large 
measure, the pain and torture that consumed him. 
The fatigue of travel and the discussion of several 
points of interest before them had the effect of giving 
them both a desire to sleep, which they did, and their 
sleep was both peaceful and restful. 

We will not attempt to follow them over the de- 
lightful journey during the three months spent in 
Florida, Cuba, Old Mexico, the Canons of Colorado, 
the wonderful climate of southern California, the 
Yosemite Valley and the Royal Gorge, but we will 
meet them as they step from the train when it comes 
to a standstill in the city of S , in Missouri. 

The large ranch of Silas Burke was about twenty 
miles due east of this city, and the only means of 
reaching it was overland by any conveyance con- 
venient. 

A message had been dispatched from Kansas City 
by Herbert, announcing the train on which they would 
arrive, so that a carriage would be on hand to transfer 
them. When they stepped from the train a search 
was made to locate it, but after diligent inquiry among 
all the carriages at the station, none was found that 
had been sent from the ranch. The message must 
have miscarried, or some one would have been there 
to meet them. 

Herbert stepped into the telegraph office and found 
that the message had not been delivered, as there were 
no means of conveying it to the ranch. 

This was a predicament, the first they had had of any 
consequence since leaving home. Further inquiries 

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were made for the locality of the ranch and for means 
of reaching it, with the result that a man was found 
who would take them to their destination. 

The hour now was only two o’clock, and the driver 
claimed, although he had not been over the road, that 
he could easily reach it in two hours. After placing 
all the baggage, of which there were several pieces, 
in the conveyance, a fairly comfortable buggy and 
wagon combined, the start was made. 

Rain had fallen the night before and the roads were 
quite muddy. The water lay in miniature lakes formed 
by the poor drainage, and travel was somewhat diffi- 
cult under the circumstances, but as this was the last 
stage of the journey and as it offered a change from 
the luxury of a parlor car, the first few miles covered 
were enjoyed by the travelers. The sun was comfort- 
ably warm, with little or no wind, and few wraps 
were needed, although plenty of blankets were at hand 
to provide for any sudden change in the temperature. 

The district through which they passed was very 
sparsely populated, and what houses there were, were 
all log cabins containing, at the most, but two rooms. 
These were occupied by poor, but industrious farmers, 
whose sole possessions consisted of a cabin and a little 
valley land which lay between the ridges of higher 
land that extended for miles as far as the eye could 
reach. The valleys were broken by the zigzag course 
of a small stream that furnished the irrigation neces- 
sary for the farms through which it passed. 

Many small, but rickety, bridges were crossed, and 
in not a few places the bridges had fallen for want of 
proper care and the traveler must need take to a road 
that led to the original pike down and across the river 

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by means of a ford, but the water was not deep enough 
now to make such a crossing difficult. 

Without exception, the families who occupy these 
farms, if such they can be termed, were large. It 
was no uncommon occurrence to see in and about the 
open door each and every member of the family, the 
father and mother, the grandfather or grandmother, 
or both, and from six to twelve youngsters, ranging 
from two to eighteen years of age. 

How these families could live and thrive with such 
surroundings, how they could raise enough on the land 
to feed, supply clothes enough to cover their bodies 
and find room enough in the house to sleep, to say 
nothing of the horse, the cow, the pigs and the chick- 
ens, has been a problem that it would be hard to figure 
out. It seems a most marvelous knack of economy 
and calculation must be practised to accomplish the 
end. 


15; 


CHAPTER XXL 


A PRIMITIVE HOME. 

One case in particular interested Herbert and Agnes 
and caused them to do some deep thinking along the 
lines mentioned. 

They were approaching a log cabin that had been 
discernible for a half hour in the distance, and as 
they came nearer the dog, which was ever present, 
set up a barking that would have raised the dead and 
which had the effect of bringing the whole family to 
the door. The cabin, as he discovered later, had but 
one room, and in the place of a door was hung a 
width of old rag carpet, soiled with much handling 
and frayed at the lower end, which came only within 
a foot of the bare ground of which the floor of the 
cabin consisted. 

A bench nailed to the ends of two round poles 
driven in the ground was at the right of the entrance 
and on this sat the grandfather with a corn-cob pipe 
in his mouth from which issued a thin line of smoke. 
He had a stick in his hand resting on the ground, 
while his chin rested on the knob, which answered 
as a handle. 

Beside him sat his aged wife also with a pipe in 
her mouth, smoking the same in contentment. They, 
as were the rest, were all clad in the roughest home- 
spun, and the coarse straw hats on their heads might 


<z£U?a&ett) Crane 


have done service for a decade at least. Their feet 
were bare, save for a piece of shingle cut the shape 
? of the foot with a piece of canvas, homespun, tacked 
to it, so as to form a sort of pocket for the toes. 

The father, a man of two or three and thirty, stood 
a little apart from the cabin with his elbow resting 
on the top rail of a pig-sty, built three-sided, of small 
straight poles, piled one upon the other to a height 
of three feet. These were tied at the corners by 
strips of elm bark, woven in and out and made fast 
by driving a small nail through it and into the pole. 
His trousers were tucked into the tops of his cowhide 
boots, the heels of which were run over, so that he ap- 
peared to stand on the sides of his feet. He held a 
rake in his hand and was resting from his work of 
raking together a quantity of hay that had been dry- 
ing in the sun by the side of the sty. 

His wife stood in the doorway holding back the 
curtain with one hand, while with the other she held 
the hand of a little, dirty-faced urchin, not over three 
years of age. The mother had a sweet face, if it 
could have been seen under the rim of the sun-bonnet 
on her head, and when she smiled, which was often, 
her pretty teeth were revealed. 

Three boys ceased playing the game of marbles 
they had been engaged in as they saw our friends 
draw up, but they were now sitting on the ground, 
bare-legged, in a row, with their fingers interlocked 
about their knees. 

Across the road and a little beyond, stood a shed. 
This was built of poles like those used for the sty, 
only it was square and higher. The poles were notched 
at the ends to leave less opening between them. A 
thatched roof was over this and on both sides of the 

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shed was an inclosure of poles, one for the horse and 
one for the cow, with doors leading to the shed and 
another door leading to the open. 

The horse and cow were tethered to stakes driven 
in the ground and were grazing. The dog had ceased 
barking now and sat on his haunches by the side of 
his master regarding the advancing team. 

The driver drew up the horses at Herbert’s request, 
and while he sunk his teeth in a square of tobacco, 
which he took from his pocket, Herbert spoke to the 
man by the sty. 

“Good afternoon, my man, can you tell me if this 
is the right road to take us to Silas Burke’s ranch ?” 

“Well, not exactly, sir, if you come from S , you 

should have taken the other fork back there a mile or 
so, or you can follow this road a half mile and turn 
to the left. Follow that until you come to the main 
road, then northeast and you can’t miss it.” 

“Thank you. Driver, do you hear that? You have 
taken us a mile out of the road. Don’t be afraid to 
ask questions when you are not quite sure of anything. 
I think I will get down a few minutes and stretch my 
legs, they have become a little cramped,” and he 
suited his actions to the word. “Won’t you get down, 
Agnes? I know you must be tired.” 

“I think I will, if we will have time, after what we 
have lost.” 

“I’ll risk it, dear ; this has been a hard trip on both 
of us,” as he helped her down. “I am going to try 
that water,” he said as he drew a drinking cup from 
his grip. “Will you have some?” as he started for 
the pump which he saw in the door yard at the left 
of the door. “Have you good water here ?” he asked 
of the man. 


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“Pretty good, I think; try it. The well is thirty 
feet deep, and the water is like crystal.” He went 
forward to start the pump, the valve of which was 
out of order and required some priming before the 
water began to gush forth. Herbert waited an in- 
stant before filling the cup and passed it to Agnes 
and waited for her to comment. 

“It is fine, Herbert ; just like ice, it is so cold.” 

“I should say so,” he said, after drinking freely. 
“Do you all live here ?” he asked of the man, pointing 
to the group by the cabin. 

“Yes, sir, this is our house. My father came here 
thirty-five years ago. I was born in that cabin, and 
all my boys were born there also.” 

“I would like to talk with your father ; what is your 
name, please?” 

“My name is James Bently, sir.” 

“Good; mine is Crofton, and this is my wife. I 
am glad I came this way and also glad to know you.” 
He took James by the hand and stepped toward the 
old man, who, with the aid of his stick, managed to 
gain his feet. 

“Father, this is Mr. Crofton and his wife, and he 
wants to know you. This is my mother, this is my 
wife, Mr. Crofton, and the kids, their names don’t 
matter.” 

“I am glad to know you all; sit down, father,” 
said Herbert; “sit down, I can talk with you better 
if you will be seated,” as he forced the old man gently 
to resume his place on the bench, and he touched the 
old lady’s hand as she sat. 

Herbert and Agnes bowed to the woman in the 
door and Agnes seated herself on the box Mr. Bently 
had placed for her. 

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CU?af)eti) Crane 


“Mr. Bently, your son tells me that you came here 
thirty-five years ago; did you build this log cabin 
then ?” 

“Yes, sir, it will be thirty-five years come next Sep- 
tember, and I have lived here ever since. I have 
four boys same as Jim here, he’s the youngest. All 
married and have families. They live along the river 
below here; all good boys.” 

“I believe it, father; but don’t you find it pretty 
cold in the cabin without a door in the winter time? 
I see no sign of a door ever having been hung in 
that casing.” 

“Yes, some times ; but we don’t mind it much. We 
are used to it, and lots of fresh air is good for people. 
I, nor any of the children, were ever sick. I don’t 
think you can say that, can you?” 

“I should say not. How cold does it ever get here 
in the winter?” 

“I have no way of telling, but when it is the coldest 
the wheels will sing on the road and the frost is like 
stars in the air. Perhaps you can tell how cold that 
is. I think it is around thirty degrees below zero, 
as we used to count it. Don’t those kids look pretty 
healthy?” as he waved his hand in their direction. 

Our friends regarded them as they stood about, 
listening to the conversation. 

“They are certainly fine boys, and have never been 
sick ?” asked Agnes, turning to the mother. 

“No, ma’am, never a day in their lives.” 

“This is most remarkable,” said Herbert. “Do you 
ever get lonesome out here?” 

“What do you mean by ‘out here’?” asked the old 
man. “This is the garden spot of the earth. I will 

162 


Clt^a&ett) Crane 


ask you, don’t you ever get lonesome out there ?” 
pointing toward the direction they had come. 

Herbert was nonplused and looked at Agnes, then 
smiling at the old man, said: “Excuse me, father, I 
stand corrected. I believe you are right. If you 
can live here without sickness in a house without a 
door, with the temperature down to thirty degrees be- 
low zero, and bring up such boys as these, you are 
certainly ‘in’ and we are decidedly ‘out’.” 

All laughed heartily at this summing up of the 
situation. 

“Well, there’s the proof of it,” pointing to the boys, 
and he laughed as he held his sides, his good old wife 
joining him. 

“Well, we must be going or we won’t get in to- 
night. How far do you call it to the Burke ranch?” 

“About thirteen miles, I should say,” answered the 
old man. 

“Do you see many strangers passing this way ?” 

“No, not many; you are the first since last fall. 
There was a man came this way and, like yourself, 
came this way by mistake. His name was Brain; 
no, that’s not right, Brain, Haine, Crane? That’s it; 
his name was Crane.” 

Herbert and Agnes gave a start and looked at each 
other, and Herbert said: “He said the man’s name 
was ‘Crane’; Oh, but it’s only a coincidence.” Then 
turning to the old man : “Do you happen to remember 
his first name?” 

“No, I never heard the name, but I think the letter 
was L. Do you remember, wife? Wasn’t L the 
letter of his first name?” 

“Yes, John; it was L. Crane on his traveling bag.” 

Herbert gave his wife another look. “L. Crane; 

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CU?a6et& Crane 


Lyman Crane. What does it mean? Oh, nothing. 
What would he be doing out this way? Nothing. It 
is only a coincidence. Well, good-bye; I may come 
this way and see you again; glad to have seen you 
all.” 

Agnes nodded to them all as she took Herbert’s 
arm and climbed into the wagon which was soon 
under headway again. 

The driver, impatient at the delay caused by this, 
as he thought, senseless talk with these “rubes,” 
drove faster than he had at any time during the after- 
noon, with the result that he soon reached the main 
road again and continued northeast as directed. 

Herbert was in deep thought as they drove along. 
He could not get the name of L. Crane out of his 
mind. Oh, pshaw, there was nothing in it. Why 
should he be here, fifteen hundred miles away from 
home and in this out-of-the-way place? It could 
not be the same, it is simply impossible, and he dis- 
missed the subject from his mind. 

Agnes was thinking also, but she was trying to in- 
vent some way to divert Herbert’s mind. She was as 
sure of where his mind was as though he had told her 
in as many words : “I am thinking of Elizabeth Crane, 
and her father is here, or was, nine months ago. 
Why?” 

They came to another fork in the road and the 
driver came to a halt. Both roads seemed, in the early 
twilight, to be of equal importance, so far as traffic 
was concerned. He was unable to determine which 
one to take. There was no house in sight and no one 
near of whom to inquire. One of the roads was 
straight ahead, and the other slightly to the north of 

164 


©li^atietf) Crane 


it. Each passed his opinion and all finally agreed 
that the road straight ahead must be the right one. 

After driving another half hour, the roads appeared 
to grow rather faint and finally seemed to fade away 
entirely with a few wheel tracks branching out in every 
direction for a distance of a hundred yards or so. 

Herbert got down and began to examine the wheel 
tracks more carefully, directing the driver to follow 
while he went ahead. He traced with his stick the 
tracks that were the most prominent and was able to 
follow in this manner for about a mile, when all at 
once he discovered he was up against the sloping bank 
of a hillside ahead and the river to the right. 

The bank of the river was bordered by thick under- 
brush both forward and back in the direction they 
had come. No signs of the wheel tracks were discern- 
ible now, and if there were he could not see them 
because of the falling darkness. 

All looked at each other helplessly. There was no 
suggestion to offer. Every means of advancement 
seemed to be cut off entirely. There they were in the 
apex of a wedge formed by the hill on one side 
and the river on the other. Herbert looked for the 
moon; there was none in sight. They had no lan- 
terns and few matches between them. He thought 
at first of upbraiding the driver for not knowing his 
business, but changed his mind; nothing was to be 
gained by so doing. 

He looked up the hill side and could see the sky 
line between the trees. The hill was not very steep, 
perhaps not more than an angle of fifteen degrees. 
As his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness 
he was aware that the top of the hill was not far 
away, in fact less than three hundred feet. He di- 

165 


(Elt^a&etf) Crane 


rected the driver to ascend the slope and ascertain if 
there was a roadway at the top. The driver hesitated 
as if afraid to venture and, Herbert, impatient with 
him for getting him in this trap, gave him a look of 
contempt and darted up the hill side himself. 

Agnes tried to stop him for fear there were wild 
animals in the woods, but he did not hesitate. They 
could dimly see him as he made his way and finally 
saw him as he reached the top, and then he gradually 
disappeared. In three minutes, it seemed to Agnes, 
three hours, he reappeared and, placing his hand over 
his eyes to aid his sight, looked down the hill side 
and, in a low tone, said: “Call in a low voice so I 
will know where you are.” The driver answered 
and Herbert could be seen feeling his way down the 
hill, carefully, so as to avoid running into some of the 
trees. 

“There’s a good wagon road at the top running 
along the ridge, and I see a faint light in that direc- 
tion,” indicating the north. “We must manage to get 
to the top. Come, Agnes, we will go on ahead and 
walk up the hill ; he can try and drive up the slope. It 
will be hard for the horses, but there is no other way.” 

He took some matches from his pocket and lighting 
them one after the other started up the slope to lead 
the way. The driver was inclined to be a bit obsti- 
nate, but with the offer of extra money for himself, 
he managed to urge the horses up the incline. Her- 
bert, with Agnes on his arm, led the way between the 
trees to the top of the hill and on, until they came to 
the road Herbert had discovered. This was slightly 
down grade, so they resumed their seats in the wagon 
and proceeded toward the light which grew more and 
more distinct as they drew near it. 

1 66 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE RANCH. 

In another half hour, the travelers emerged from the 
woods and, in the valley beyond, saw the house by the 
aid of the full moon that was now in plain view over 
the ridge. 

The sight of a habitation of any kind to the weary 
travelers was a most welcome one, and their spirits 
rose in response to its inspiration. Herbert gave a 
shout of joy and Agnes was ready to cry with the 
gladness that was in her heart. In ten minutes more 
they had driven up to the gate and Herbert called to 
the people he could see on the veranda. 

“Is this Silas Burke’s ranch?” 

“Yes; what can I do for you?” 

“Can you put us up for the night? It is rather 
too dark to go further until daylight.” 

“Of course we will, and gladly,” as the speaker 
came down the gravel walk toward them. “Come, 
get down and make yourself at home. How many are 
there of you, three?” as he came nearer and was 
able to count them. “Here, George, come and lend a 
hand,” he said, turning to the man on the steps ; “put 
these horses in the barn and give them all they can 
eat and drink. Have you come far?” 

“We came from S , and have had a hard time 

getting here.” 

They were led to the house by Mr. Burke. Mrs. 
167 


Crane 


Burke made them welcome, and after they had re- 
moved their wraps she asked, in a motherly voice, if 
they were not hungry after their long ride. 

Agnes could restrain herself no longer and, running 
to her aunt, she threw her arms around her neck and 
kissed her soundly on the cheek. 

“Aunt Ella, don’t you know me?” 

That lady disengaged herself and, stepping back, 
regarded her niece with wondering eyes. 

“Agnes Coleman ; for the land sake,” as she took her 
hand. “How did you ever come?” and she pressed 
her to her heart and cried for very joy. 

“Not Agnes Coleman, auntie; but Agnes Crofton. 
This is my good husband. Kiss him ; there, and to 
think you did not know me. Have I changed so 
much ?” 

The auntie dried her tears and new ones came in 
their place. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see 
you both; and this is your husband? Here, Silas, 
don’t you know Agnes and Mr. Crofton? Shake 
hands with them both and kiss my niece, or I know 
she will be angry.” He did as he was bidden. “You 
must be as hungry as wolves. Silas, go and kill a 
couple of chickens, and I will have them fried in a 
jiffy ; now hurry,” as he disappeared through the door. 

Richard Burke, the youngest son, came into the 
room from the porch where he had been sitting un- 
observed, and started after his father to get the 
chickens. Aunt Ella called him back and said : 
“Here, Dick, this is your cousin Agnes and her hus- 
band. Come and shake hands with them.” 

He came forward bashfully and extended his hand 
to Agnes, who met him half way and, before he 
knew it, had kissed him on the cheek. “How do you 

1 68 


df^a&etl) Crane 


do, Richard ; I am glad to know you. This is Her- 
bert,” as she led him by the hand back to where 
Herbert stood. “He is the best boy, and I hope 
you will be good friends.” 

They shook hands and Herbert said: “Come, Dick, 
we will help catch the chickens,” and they passed out 
of the door through which Mr. Burke had just gone. 

Left to themselves, Aunt Ella led the way to the 
kitchen to see what there was to eat. The larder was 
opened and the good things were found in great 
abundance. In another ten minutes the door opened 
and the three men came in excited after the chase 
in the coop for the chickens. These were soon made 
ready for the fry. In thirty minutes more the hungry 
travelers, including the driver, sat down to the re- 
past and did excellent justice to the feast, while the 
rest watched them with happy faces. 

Herbert, between the bites of tender chicken, told 
in his happy style and with much drollness, the experi- 
ence they had had in losing their way and having 
found it again, the relating of which kept them in an 
almost continuous roar of laughter. 

It was all very funny now, but at the time of hap- 
pening it seemed to the travelers anything but a 
laughing matter. It had all ended so well that they 
could well afford to enjoy it with the appreciative 
listeners, which they certainly did. 

Herbert learned afterwards that they had saved at 
least a mile of the distance to the ranch by coming 
as they did, and on several occasions took that route 
when he went to the city on horseback. He would 
laughingly vow that he came that way on purpose 
to save the distance that night, but no one was in- 
clined to believe him. 


169 


CU?a6etl) Crane 


A month had gone by since Herbert and Agnes ar- 
rived at the ranch, and it was now the last of the 
beautiful month of June, the month when nature is 
at its very best. Everything was green, the trees, 
the lawns and the fields of ripening grain. The rippling 
streams flowed on in their merry course, and the songs 
of the many bright plumaged birds were the gayest, 
as they called their mates and made their nests to- 
gether. The fish were to be seen gliding hither and 
thither in the sparkling brooks and the nimble rain- 
bow trout might be seen dodging here and there with 
lightning rapidity from shelter to shelter beneath the 
overhanging banks. 

The large house of Silas Burke was on a most mag- 
nificent slope in the center of a beautiful valley, and 
for miles, as it stretched past in the distance, could 
be seen the high ridge which intervened between his 
farm and the adjoining farms of his neighbors. 

Along the top of this ridge was a public highway, 
and on clear days, travelers bound from one county 
to another could be seen through the scant wood- 
land for hours at a time if one cared to watch them. 
It was over this road that Silas Burke always drove 
when he went to town, and when he was expected 
home the good wife would sit by the door and watch 
his figure as it came slowly, as it seemed to her, along 
the top of the ridge. They were very happy together 
and their lives were knit as in one. 

They had formed a great liking for Herbert, and 
since coming here their days had been full from morn- 
ing till night with the exuberance of youth and the 
simple pleasures of rural life. With the fishing and 
boating in the river, which passed just below the 
brow of the ridge, the gathering of early flowers, the 

170 


(gli^abetft Ctaite 


horse-back riding and sitting in the shade of the droop- 
ing willows, in the hammocks and lawn swings, there 
seemed to be little left to wish for. 

One day Herbert received a letter from his partner 
informing him of the impending strike at the mines, 
the grievance being that the scale of wages paid the 
men was not in accordance with the Union scale of 
wages. Mr. Borden had, prior to the taking in of 
Herbert, arranged a scale and received the signature 
of the men then employed to accept them as satisfac- 
tory for a term of two years. 

This time was to expire in two months, and they, 
with the new men employed since, had given out that 
the old scale would not be signed again. 

He had told Agnes of the condition of affairs 
and expressed his intention of getting up early and 
going to town to send a message to his partner, set- 
ting forth his idea of the proper adjustment of the dif- 
ficulty. It was very necessary to have the matter ad- 
justed as early as possible to avoid any expensive 
shut down at the mine. 

‘'How would you like to go with me ? We will not 
attempt to come back the same day, for several tele- 
grams will, no doubt, be necessary.” 

“I would like it very much, Herbert ; and the time 
would be so long if you were to go alone.” 

“Then we will get an early start; the roads are 
fine, and with the instructions I have received from 
Mr. Burke we will go by the shortest route and not 
get lost again,” and they both laughed heartily at the 
remembrance of their former experience. 

“After your business is transacted you may help 
me to do some shopping, if you will.” 

“I will be glad, Agnes, to assist you in any way that 

171 


Clisa&etJ) Crane 


I can ; but as to shopping, I doubt if I can be of any 
help; my experience is extremely limited, I assure 
you.” 

“Not so limited as you would have me think, dear 
Herbert; at least I will be glad of your company.” 

“Which, dear heart, is always at your service.” 
He arose from the hammock and, going to her side, 
placed his arms around her neck and kissed her fondly. 
“Agnes, sweetheart, I wish to say to you those words 
for which your heart has been longing and which I 
can now say in truth, I love you with all my heart, and 
you only. I have, with your help, conquered the love 
I once had for Elizabeth Crane.” 

“Oh, Herbert,” she cried, as she looked into his face, 
hardly daring to believe what she had heard. “Can 
this indeed be true ?” She must have caught a glimpse 
of the lovelight in his eyes, for tears of joy came to 
her eyes, and she threw her arms about his neck and 
said: “Yes, Herbert, I know it is the truth, and how 
happy you have made me; this is worth all that I 
have suffered and more, you love me,” and she buried 
her face on his shoulder and cried for very joy. 

Herbert and Agnes remained in town a fortnight 
at least before returning to the ranch. Both were 
supremely happy ; Agnes had at last attained her 
heart’s desire, and Herbert realized as never before 
the sterling worth of the good woman by his side. 

Many telegrams had passed between Herbert and 
his partner and the strike at the mines was averted by 
a compromise agreement which was satisfactory to 
both sides in the controversy. A scale of wages was 
signed for a period of five years and everything was 
running smoothly. 

1 72 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“crossing the BAR.” 

The months spent with Uncle Silas and Aunt Ella 
at the ranch were the happiest Agnes had ever known. 

Even Herbert regained some of his old-time boyish 
cheerfulness and he devoted himself to his wife with 
an ardor that was far more observable than in the 
earlier months of their marriage. 

Agnes received all the kindness and attention shown 
her with the unfailing courtesy and sweetness that was 
so characteristic of her. She was happy, very happy 
in her quiet way, but Herbert often caught a look 
on her face that filled him with foreboding, a look as of 
one who sees that which is invisible, “as grave as night 
on starlit, southern seas,” and yet not one of fear 
or unhappiness. Indeed it would be hard to analyze 
her feelings at this time. 

Her thoughts toward Elizabeth, if she thought of her 
at all, were no longer filled with a vague bitterness. 
She was at peace with all the world, the beautiful 
world from which she was slipping away so quietly. 

She was singing very softly, one day that tender 
song of Tennyson's, “Crossing the Bar,” and Herbert 
listened with a sinking heart as she dwelt on the lines : 

“I hope I'll see my pilot face to face, 

When I have crossed the bar.” 

173 


Ctane 


He drew her head back and kissed her tenderly. 
“What is it, Agnes ? Are you not happy ?” 

“Yes ; very, very happy, Herbert.” 

“You don't want to cross the bar, do you, my 
dear ?” 

“No; but I am ready to go when the pilot comes 
and, dear Herbert, I sometimes think he is coming 
soon.” 

Sobs shook Herbert’s frame, emotion that he could 
not master overpowered him, but he nerved himself 
to speak cheerfully. 

“Agnes, darling, no dread spectre shall come be- 
tween us. We will have many long years to travel 
together before either of us reach the river. Come, 
let us take a walk. A little exercise will do you good.” 

“I cannot, dear Herbert, not now; I want you 
to sit here by me and hold my hand. I want to say 
a few words, just a few that I want you to listen to. 
In case anything happens to me you will find my will 
and other papers in the box in my trunk.” 

He seized her hands in his and dropped upon his 
knees before the couch on which she was resting and 
looked pleadingly into the depths of her beautiful 
eyes and said: “Oh, Agnes, you must not think of 
leaving me; your are not well, but you will recover 
and be your own sweet self again.” 

He pressed his hand on her burning forehead and 
knew that he was hoping against hope ; he had noticed 
for the past month how much weaker she was be- 
coming. Everything had been done that could be, 
to avert the dread spectre, but all to no avail. A feel- 
ing of deep remorse came over him as he watched 
her on account of his neglect in not learning soonen 

174 


dBlt'sabetj) Crane 


the lesson of love which she had tried so hard to 
teach him. 

In the late autumn the dread messenger came. The 
golden sunlight danced and wavered on the wall 
as one frail little life was ushered into the world 
while another was leaving. 

She looked up at the good aunt and at Herbert, 
who was kneeling by her bed, breathed, “good-bye,” 
and was gone. 

Surely the bells of Heaven rang their sweetest 
chimes when Agnes entered, as a sweeter soul than 
hers never knocked for admission at the “Gates of 
Pearl.” 

After placing his wife beside her father (as had 
been her oft expressed desire) in the beautiful ceme- 
tery near D , Herbert returned to the ranch where 

the dear, little mite of humanity whom he called his 
son was thriving under the good treatment of Aunt 
Ella. 


175 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE LOST IS FOUND. 

One day, six months later, Herbert received the fol- 
lowing letter, which is self-explanatory : 

Mr. Herbert Crofton, 

Care Silas Burke. 

Dear Friend : — It is with the greatest reluctance that 
I take the privilege, at this time and under the present 
circumstances, of writing to you. 

As the promise you exacted of me when you went 
away was given in absolutely good faith, I have de- 
cided to ask a great favor. I have heard of your 
great sorrow and most heartily sympathize with you 
in it. 

That of itself has made me hesitate to take your 
time. I have always felt and know that you would 
be ready to help me if the occasion should present 
itself. It is this confidence that prompts me now to 
speak. 

I will take you back to that day, nearly two years 
ago, when you were here. I told you I was already 
engaged to another; it was true. 

That very day Weston Sibley came to my mother 
and made threats of bringing a criminal suit against 
my father for fraud. Such a suit would have been a 
life-long disgrace to our name. He demanded my 
hand in marriage. In return, he agreed to drop all 


CU^aSetl) Ctatte 


proceedings, return my father to us, for he had dis- 
appeared, and turn over to me all proofs of his wrong- 
doing. I loved my father and felt it my duty, as a 
daughter, to save him at the expense of my own hap- 
piness. 

I agreed, in writing, to marry him upon the above 
conditions. This all took place the afternoon you 
were here, and not half an hour before you called. 
This will account for my agitation at the time and 
was the cause of your abrupt dismissal. Since then, 
diligent search has been made for my father, but so 
far no trace of him has been found. My agreement 
does not hold if he comes back of his own accord, 
or if found by other means than those of Weston 
Sibley. He has failed utterly to locate him. I now 
ask you, my friend, to help us. I have no clue that 
will be of any use. We want to have him with us. 
He has, or had, at the time, a letter signed by William 
F. Howell, demanding an interview, looking to a 
settlement of the matter. If the letter can be found, 
I have the proofs in my hand to show that it was 
written by the hand of Weston Sibley and no other. 
Will you help us? 

Yours in sorrow, 

Elizabeth Crane. 

The complexity of emotions that Herbert felt as 
he read the letter through for the second time was a 
matter which would have been hard for him to analyze. 
The mixture of sadness and happiness which engulfed 
him was bitter sweet. He was sorry and glad at the 
same time. The coming of this joy, upon the heels 
of his bereavement, was a matter over which he had 
no control. To refuse to help her, now that he had 

m 


Crane 


the opportunity, was to violate his promise to come, 
and this violation would serve no good purpose. There 
could be no disrespect to the memory of the good 
wife who has passed away to make this search for the 
father of his old-time friend, and his promise had been 
given. 

Accordingly this dispatch had been sent out: 
Elizabeth Crane: 

Am at your service. Search begins at once. Will 
wire results. Think I have a clue. 

Herbert Crofton. 

Aunt Ella was proving herself a most excellent 
nurse, and the boy, being the picture of health, Her- 
bert felt no hesitancy in going about the new business 
without delay. 

With the hope of learning something of Mr. Crane, 
Herbert hunted up Silas Burke, whom he found in 
the south meadow, superintending the sowing of his 
winter wheat. 

“Uncle Silas, do you happen to have heard the name 
of Crane, Lyman Crane, in this part of the country?” 

“I don’t think so, Herbert, let me see.” He scratched 
his head and lifted his foot and rested it on the frame 
of a wheat drill. “The name sounds familiar and 
yet I can’t quite place it.” He stood for a few mo- 
ments in deep thought. “Yes, I have it. Crane, I 
think that is the name of the man ; he came this way, 
or rather a little north, something like a year and a 
half ago and, as I remember it, wanted to get to Cedar 
Grove. I think old John Bently can tell you more 
about him, as he is the man who told me.” 

“All right, Uncle; good-bye, I’ve got to find him. 

i 7 8 


aEU^alutj) Ctane 


I’ll take 'the black’ and if I lose him I’ll pay you 
good for him. Good-bye,” as he took his hand. 

He returned to the house and after a half hour with 
his baby boy, bade his aunt good-bye, with the prom- 
ise of coming back soon, started on the trail of Lyman 
Crane. 

He took the short cut and rode at good speed to 
the log cabin of John Bentley. He jumped from his 
horse, while one of the boys held the lines, shook 
hands all round and said: 

"Father, I would like to know more of this man 
Crane you told me of when I came this way first. 
What was he like? How was he dressed? Where 
did he go ? And anything else you know of him ?” 

"Well, Mr. Crofton, I am sorry I spoke of him and 
I would not like to say more, if by so doing harm 
shall come to him. He was a fine gentleman, and was 
very kind to us and paid us well for the bed of clean 
straw we gave him.” 

"You need have no fear, father; I have none but 
the best of news for him, if I can find him. He left 
his home shortly before you saw him and has not re- 
turned. My sole object is to induce him to do so.” 

“I will tell you all I know, which is not much, for 
I have not seen him since,” said Mr. Bentley. "He 
told me he wished to get to Cedar Grove, a small vil- 
lage, about forty miles due east, to take up a claim 
and live there. Misfortune had rapped at his door, 
he said, and he must get a new start. 

"Six months afterwards I heard that he never 
went to Cedar Grove, but took possession of an old, 
unused log cabin in the fork of the ridges, seventeen 
miles northeast of here. He was still there four 
months ago. One George Bundy, a neighbor of his, 

179 


Cli^abeti) Crane 


often comes this way and he told me of him. He 
seems to be living as a recluse. I’d be glad to tell 
you more if it would help you, but that is all I know.” 

“It is enough, and I will have no trouble in finding 
the place, for I have already been to Mr. Bundy’s 
farm. With the information he can give me I am 
sure to be able to make the wife and daughter very 
happy by taking him to them. Please accept this as 
a slight payment of what I owe you,” as he slipped 
a bill in the old man’s hand, “and I am much obliged 
to you besides. I must try and make it this after- 
noon, good-bye.” 

He mounted his horse, wheeled about and disap- 
peared in a cloud of dust. 

The ride was a long, hard one, but by stopping at 
intervals of every five miles or so and giving the horse 
and himself a little needed rest, he succeeded in reach- 
ing the Bundy farm about dusk. He informed Mr. 
Bundy without delay of his object, in practically the 
same words he had used to John Bently, and was told 
that this man was at his cabin about a mile down the 
road. This determined, he decided to wait till morn- 
ing before paying Mr. Crane a visit. Then, at Her- 
bert’s request, accommodations were secured and the 
horse placed in the stable. 

At eight o’clock the next morning, Mr. Bundy, who 
was friendly with the recluse, accompanied Herbert to 
the old cabin and as they approached, Mr. Crane 
(for it was indeed he) arose from a bench upon which 
he was sitting in front of the cabin and entered the 
one room and came out again with a gun in his hand ; 
as he did so he recognized Mr. Bundy, and upon his 
assertion that his companion was a friend, he allowed 

180 


4£li?abeti) Ctatie 


him to come, while Mr. Bundy remained in the back- 
ground. 

Herbert leaped to the ground and extended his 
hand, but Mr. Crane was still suspicious. 

“Mr. Crane, do you not know me? I am Herbert 
Crofton.” 

“Yes, I know you; but why do you come here?” 

“I have come to tell you that the letter you re- 
ceived the day you left home was a forgery, a part 
of the plot by Weston Sibley to compel your daughter 
to marry him. This letter will explain everything; 
read it,” and Herbert handed Mr. Crane the letter 
he had received the day before. 

Mr. Crane was attired in a coarse blue shirt with 
the collar unbuttoned, exposing his neck, a pair of 
heavy trousers tucked into hunting boots and a leather 
strap around his waist. His head was bare, but on 
the bench where he had been sitting lay a wide 
brimmed slouch hat not unlike those used by the cow- 
boys a little further west. His hair had grown 
somewhat grayer since Herbert had seen him, and his 
shoulders were more bent. His beard was close- 
cropped and his complexion ruddy. 

He took the letter in his left hand and reached for 
Herbert’s hand with his right and shook it with emo- 
tion, then turning quickly, entered the cabin alone. 

Herbert went to Mr. Bundy and said : “I know you 
will not be offended if I ask you to leave us. The 
letter I gave him is from his daughter and he has 
gone into the cabin to read it by himself.” 

“Not in the least, Mr. Crofton. If he goes away 
I would like to shake hands with him,” and he jumped 
into the saddle and returned to his farm. 


181 


CHAPTER XXV. 


GOOD NEWS FROM HOME. 

Mr. Crane did not look at the letter until he had 
seated himself by the table where he had laid it, and 
then he looked at the signature first ; he grabbed it up 
and pressed it to his lips once, twice, thrice, then the 
manly tears rushed from his eyes. “Elizabeth, my 
only baby,” and he kissed the name again. He drew 
one shirt sleeve across his eyes, then the other, and 
beginning at the top, devoured the contents, word by 
word, to the end. “They know all and love me yet; 
it cannot be,” and he read the letter again “and we 
want to have him with us;” again his emotions over- 
came him and he did not attempt to restrain them. 

After a little while he arose and, going to a shelf on 
which were a half dozen books, worn with much read- 
ing and selecting one of them, he took it to the table 
and opening it to the back cover, he drew his jack 
knife and began to cut out a square of the last fly leaf, 
which had been pasted over an opening in the cover. 
This done he took from the opening the letter re- 
ferred to in his daughter’s letter to Herbert and un- 
folding it, spread it on the table and studied it care- 
fully. He did not need to read it to know the con- 
tents, for they were engraved on his memory too deep 
to be effaced. He noticed now, for the first time, 
the letter was hand written. “That is evidence enough 
that the letter is a forgery. No man of business ever 

182 


aBItfafietii Ctane 


writes a letter nowadays since the advent of the type- 
writer. All a plot to marry my little girl. The 
scoundrel; but stop, can I call him a scoundrel? I 
who have deserted my family because of that letter? 
I, who conducted my business by fraud? Yes, fraud; 
nothing else, and I who thought he would not investi- 
gate. Oh, fool that I have been to think I could do 
these things and defy the world, and be scared away 
by such a flimsy forgery as that. I had better stay 
here and not pretend to look honest men in the face.” 

He picked up the two letters and put them to- 
gether in the book and closed it and walked up and 
down the room in deep study for a few moments 
and back to the table and with his clenched fist he 
struck it a resounding blow, saying : “I will be a man. 
I will look honest men in the face. I will go back 
to my family and suffer, if need be, to right the wrong 
I have done. I will be a coward no longer. I will go 
to-day, let come what may.” He stepped to the door 
and nodded to Herbert to come in and when he came, 
motioned him to a seat on the opposite side of the 
table. 

“Will you tell me, in as few words as possible, how 
much you know of this matter?” 

“Mr. Crane, I know absolutely nothing, except what 
is in that letter.” 

“Then I will tell you of my determination. I am 
going back to face the charges, whatever they may be, 
and suffer the penalty, if need be, so I can look my 
family in the face, come what may.” 

“Give me your hand to that, Mr. Crane, and I will 
stand by you till the last.” The handshake, over the 
table, was most cordial and marked the beginning of 
a better life for Lyman Crane. 

183 


CU^abetl) Crane 


“I have no right to dictate to you, but the loved 
ones you left behind, have. Elizabeth was ready to 
sacrifice her life to enable you to stand up before men. 
Can you do less than hear her, before you step in and 
undo all that she may have done to save your name 
from disgrace that may or may not have been merited ? ' 
I infer that she has made a request for that letter 
which you have received. Have you that letter?” 

“I have, and it will be in her hands as soon as 
I can put it there.” 

“May I make a suggestion, Mr. Crane?” 

“You may, and as many as you like.” 

“This amounts to just one; and that is, go with me 
to some city near your home, remain quietly there 
until I can go and fetch Elizabeth and her mother. 
You can all talk the matter over and decide what is 
best to be done.” 

“A good suggestion, and I agree to it. I am ready 
to start immediately, if you are.” 

“I am. Is there anything here you wish to take ?” 

“Nothing, except this book.” 

“Then take my horse and I will follow on foot. You 
must say a few last words to Mr. Bundy, and I must 
send this horse back to its owner. Come.” 

Mr. Crane gave one last look about the home he had 
chosen to occupy in preference to his own in far away 
Vermont. 

Mr. Bundy dispatched a man to take the travelers as 
far as Rolla, where they would take the train east. 
While there Herbert sent this message: 

Elizabeth Crane, 

Found. Coming home. 


184 


Herbert. 


Crane 


At St. Louis Mr. Crane lost the stubble on his face, 
and with the new apparel purchased, was himself 
again. 

The fast train that pulled out of the Union Station 
in due time came to a standstill in Albany where, 
it was agreed that Mr. Crane would await the arrival 
of his wife and daughter. A not too prominent hotel 
was chosen and when he was made comfortable Her- 
bert then continued his journey to his native city 
from which he had been driven. The remarkable con- 
trast between this trip and the former could not but 
force itself upon him. 

How good it seemed to be back again and see the 
familiar faces everywhere. The bridge, the hill, the 
river, the hotels, the post office and last and best of all, 
the good mother who, even now, was sitting in the 
shade of the long, wide porch. He ran up the walk 
and, taking her in his strong arms, kissed her rev- 
erently. 

“Mother.” 

“My boy ; my poor boy ; to be so soon be- 
reaved. My heart bleeds for you, Herbert, in your 
great loss,” as she buried her face on his shoulder. 

“Don’t, mother; I know how you feel. It was a 
hard blow, and she was one among ten thousand. No 
sweeter character ever lived.” 

“I know it, Herbert. Where is the baby?” 

“He is with Aunt Ella, out on the ranch, and a 
fine little fellow he is. He has not been sick a day 
and is as plump and healthy a baby as one could 
wish to see.” 

“Oh, I’d so love to see him. Why did you leave 
him among strangers, when there are so many of us 
that would be so glad to take him ?” 

185 


OEU^a&et!) Crane 


“Especially on account of the rich milk and be- 
cause my trip now is a hurried one. I am going back 
before long and will bring him next time. How are 
father and George, and Helen and that baby? I 
am going over to see her. Will you go with me?” 

“No, Herbert; not now. You go and hurry back, 
there is so much I want to talk to you about.” 

“What is it, mother?” as he looked at her. 

“Oh, nothing, but what will keep until you get back. 
When you are away there are a thousand things I 
want to say, but when you are here I just want to look 
at you,” and the look she gave him was proof enough 
that she was proud of her youngest boy. 

“Well, I’ll be back soon,” as he ran out of the gate. 

Her eyes followed him until he turned the corner 
of the next block. “Poor boy, married and bereaved 
in less than two years,” as she resumed her fancy 
work which she had dropped when he came up. 

The scene was repeated up to a certain degree a 
moment later, for Herbert was a prime favorite with 
them all. He caught Helen Mary up and pressed 
her to his heart and held her there as long as she 
would stay, which was not long when she slid to the 
floor. 

“Uncle dot talkalet tandy?” 

“I surely have, you precious thing,” and he pro- 
duced a small box of chocolate candy from his pocket 
and held it for her. “Let uncle kiss head?” 

“Uncle tiss my baby’s head,” and she laughed as 
she came forward and stood before him with her 
face down, and after he kissed her she said again: 
“Uncle, talkalet tandy?” 

“Well, I must go; I’ve another errand to attend to,” 
1 86 


CU?abet|> Crane 


and he arose from his chair. As he did so, Helen 
Mary ran to the door and stood before it. 

“Uncle, stay with ‘my babe’.” 

“I can’t, sweetheart, but I will come back to-night 
and see you and daddy.” 

“Uncle come back night and see daddy.” She stood 
aside to let him pass. 

“Yes, I will come back to-night.” 

Herbert returned to Main Street, but went in the 
opposite direction from his home. He continued up 
Main Street and took the right fork at the school 
house and on up the hill to the Crane residence. 


187 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


FACE TO FACE. 

He stepped into the sitting room while the servant 
announced him. He had scarcely seated himself and 
was taking in at a glance the familiar place when the 
door opened and Elizabeth came quickly in and gave 
a quick glance about the room. Not seeing her father, 
she said: 

‘‘Herbert, need I tell you how glad I am to see 
your face again,” and she went to him and took his 
hand as he arose to meet her. 

“No, Elizabeth. I can still see that look in your 
eyes. It was a sad parting we had, and it is a sadder 
reunion. We have all suffered much and you not the 
least. There is unfinished business which must take 
first place in our thoughts.” 

“Yes, Herbert, I know. I received both messages 
not a day apart. How shall we ever repay you for 
your kindness?” 

“Best of all by not saying anything about it. I 
deserve no credit ; I would have done it for a stranger 
if he had asked it of me. I am especially glad to 
have done it for you and your good mother. Where 
is she, Elizabeth? What I have to say is for her 
also. How you both have suffered. Yes, I am more 
than repaid already. Will you call your mother?” 

“Certainly, Herbert, but let me first extend to you 
my heartfelt sympathy for your deep sorrow. ‘His 

1 88 


Crane 


will be done’,” she said, and placed her hand on his 
shoulder. 

“Elizabeth, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate 
this from you,” as he took her hand. “I can but echo 
your words, ‘His will be done’.” 

With her handkerchief to her eyes she left the 
room and shortly returned with her mother. 

Mrs. Crane came up to him and dropped on her 
knees before him and, taking his hand before he could 
realize her aot, kissed it fervently. 

“Herbert Crofton, there is a crown of glory in 
Heaven for you ; this act of yours will not go unre- 
warded. Words fail me utterly. My gratitude is 
beyond words to express, and in your sorrow, may 
God in his infinite mercy, uphold you, is my prayer.” 

Herbert had lifted the good woman to her feet 
as soon as he could, and her words had been spoken 
while holding his hand in hers. Both were in tears 
now and Herbert drew up chairs for them to be seated 
and they mechanically dropped into them, while he re- 
garded them intently. 

“But you have not asked a word about Mr. Crane.” 

“There was no need,” said the mother, as both 
their faces shone with a happy light. “We know he 
is safe; God bless you.” 

The joy that was depicted on their faces would 
have been an inspiration to an artist if he had seen 
it. It repaid him a thousand times over for the 
long, dusty ride he had taken to find the husband 
and father of these women. 

“Thank you; say no more about the reward. 
That look of happiness I have just seen in your faces 
has more than repaid me for the slight service. Let 
us get down to the facts of the case. Elizabeth, 

189 


<Bli?abetl) Crane 


you use the word, excuse me for saying it, ‘fraud.’ 
I have no desire nor inclination to pry into the nature 
of it unless as a last resort. We will use the word, 
mistake, for the present when we mention it. I pro- 
pose to take you to Mr. Crane. 

“You will see him alone and talk over the situa- 
tion, as you know it, and then decide upon a way to 
bring about peace and good-will without publicity. 
You agreed to the demands of this scoundrel Weston 
Sibley, to save your father’s name from disgrace. 
You mention certain conditions on Sibley’s part, the 
fulfillment of which must be made a week prior to 
the fulfillment of your part of the contract. Am I 
right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Have you any objection to my knowing the exact 
wording of that contract? This is not idle curiosity, 
believe me, but everything depends upon it.” 

“We have no secrets to withhold from you, Her- 
bert ; nothing shall be held back.” 

“Then please repeat it; or, better still, let me see 
a copy of it, if you have one.” 

“I have a copy he gave me, also a copy of the one 
I sent him. Excuse me a moment while I get them.” 

Elizabeth returned almost immediately and handed 
them to Herbert, who read both carefully. 

“Allow me to compliment you on the shrewdness 
displayed in the wording of your note as compared 
with the one he expected you to copy. It indicates 
forethought.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I have but one thing to suggest ; you may have it 
in your mind to do it, but this thought came to me as 
I studied the agreement. Weston Sibley has in his 

190 


Cli^afietf) Crane 


possession certain proofs and affidavits which he 
agrees to place in your hands immediately upon the 
return of Mr. Crane, provided it is through his ef- 
forts that Mr. Crane returns. Could you get the 
papers if some other person was the means of causing 
him to return? I think not, peaceably. 

“I suggest that a message be sent to Weston Sib- 
ley, informing him that one Lyman Crane is at a cer- 
tain hotel. He will, without doubt, send him word to 
come home at once and all charges will be dropped. 
Mr. Crane will at once come home and Mr. Sibley 
will hand you the papers. Mr. Crane has the letter 
you mentioned in yours to me and will pass it over 
to you himself. This is only a suggestion, or rather 
a thought which may or may not be of value to you; 
but, knowing it, you will not fail to bear it in mind 
and use it as your best judgment shall dictate. You 
have the proofs of the forgery and will know how to 
use them.” 

“Thank you, Herbert,” said Elizabeth. “I had over- 
looked that part of the matter and will act upon your 
suggestions; but will, if necessary, modify it to suit 
the occasion.” 

“For your satisfaction, I will say that when I found 
your father I handed him your letter to read. He 
entered the cabin in which he had lived all this time 
and read it alone. The struggle he had with himself 
before he would consent to come back, is a matter 
that he alone knows. At the end of an hour he called 
me inside, and after asking me what I knew, and 
learning that I knew nothing except what you wrote 
me, he told me of his determination to come home 
and stand trial, if need be, and suffer whatever pun- 
ishment was meted out to him. 

1191 


OBIifafietb Crane 


“He means to live his life after this so that he 
can look the whole world in the face and, more im- 
portant still, as he said to me, so as to be able to look 
both of you in the face without a blush. I know his 
intentions are good and bona fide. If you can save 
yourselves and him the disgrace of his mistakes, I 
believe the end of justice will be served. He will 
be a better man and a comfort to you the rest of his 
life, which I hope and pray will be a long and happy 
one/’ 

“Herbert,” said Elizabeth, “you have told us noth- 
ing of how you found him, nor where.” 

“I have avoided doing so intentionally. I prefer 
to leave the story for him to tell as suits his inclina- 
tion. Now as to the details. Will it be convenient 
for you to go with me to-morrow ? He is in Albany.” 

“Of course, any time or place.” 

“Then, to avoid any chance of failure, suppose you 

take the eight-thirty express for S , leave the train 

at G , and I will come on the next train an 

hour later. If the coast is clear I will join you 
and we will proceed on our journey, but not together. 
I will watch for anything suspicious and get you 
word with instructions. Is this clear to you?” 

“Fully, Herbert,” said Mrs. Crane. “It is impor- 
tant that we watch every move we make.” 

“Then I will go now and see you at G .” 

“Won’t you stay for tea?” 

“I cannot to-night, much as I would like to. Good 
night.” 

Early the next morning Herbert stationed himself 
behind a board fence on the top of the bluff opposite 
the depot and waited. He must guard well the last 
details, as everything depended on it. To be followed 

192 


(Elisa&etl) Crane 


now might mean much delay and unnecessary suffer- 
ing. He must be on the alert to checkmate the enemy if 
he should appear. As the time drew near for the train 
he observed the figure of Weston Sibley approach the 
station, and instead of following the front platform, 
he passed it by the rear and took a position near the 
door of the freight house, where he could not be seen 
by people on the main platform, but where he could 
see all that was taking place. He drew a cigar from 
his pocket, and while he was lighting it, the Crane car- 
riage drove up and the two ladies stepped out. They 
purchased their tickets and walked up and down in 
front of the station. 

Weston Sibley kept his eye upon them until they 
boarded the train. He did not attempt to follow, 

for it was no unusual thing for them to go to S , 

as they went each week and he had often watched 
them from the same position. Whether he was aware 
of Herbert’s arrival or not Herbert did not know, 
but after the train pulled out, and Sibley seeing 
nothing suspicious in their movements, sauntered back 
past the station and on back to the village. Herbert, 
from where he was, could see him turn at the river 
and go up the road and then across the bridge and 
knew the road was clear. 

He remained where he was, however, until ten min- 
utes before the train was due and watching the bridge 
and approach, he made his way around by the road, 
and as the train pulled in, he took a seat in the rear 
car, where he remained until he was out of sight of the 
station. 

So intent was Herbert in watching Sibley that he 
failed to observe a small man in a brown suit, tan 
oxfords and a slouch hat, his standard garb, except 

193 


Cli^abeti) Crane 


when on special occasions, he changed to suit the 
character he wished to impersonate, who took a seat 
not far away. 

William Shaw, for it was he, had reached the bridge 
and was standing with his elbow resting on the rail, 
when Herbert, who had been pointed out to him the 
day before by Sibley, as he walked past the hotel in 
which they were sitting, came along on the opposite 
side. Without appearing to do so he watched Her- 
bert as he leisurely took his position by the fence. 

Knowing that he was there to watch, Shaw made 
his way to the station and stood there in the shade 
of the long, low roof, as Sibley came past and de- 
tained him only long enough to say: “Crofton is on 
the bluff opposite; do not notice him. I expect he 
will take the next train. I will follow and report.” 

Sibley had not succeeded in his effort to find Crane, 
and the fruitless clews he had followed would make 
interesting reading if compiled under the title of “The 
Wrong Trail.” But as Shaw was quick-witted and 
fearless he had been retained, with the result that 
he had at last struck the right trail. 

Herbert took another seat further forward and 

Shaw could now watch him with ease. At G , 

Herbert, feeling that the way was clear, alighted, 
stepped to the waiting room and motioned the ladies, 
who were there as arranged. They stepped aboard 
the car ahead and Herbert resumed his old seat. 

Change of cars was made at S , and the west- 

ward journey continued. 

Herbert, who now felt sure that his movements were 
not observed, called a cab upon arriving at Albany, and 
all were driven to the hotel. Without registering he 
took them to the room of Mr. Crane, and when the 

194 


Clisa&etJ) Crane 


door was opened he left them, with the promise to 
come up in an hour. “If you want me sooner, tell the 
boy in the elevator and he will call me. I will be in 
the lobby below.” 

William Shaw stepped from another cab and went 
at once to the register and scanned the names until 
he found the one he was after. There it was, “Lyman 
Crane, St. L . Room 224.” Going to the tele- 

graph booth he sent the following message : 

Weston Sibley: 

L. C. is here. Hotel A . Wire him as agreed. 

Room 224. 

William Shaw. 

This done he took a seat in a far corner of the lobby 
and waited for what might transpire. 

As he opened the door to admit them, Mr. Crane 
stepped back and, with his hands behind him, moved 
to the opposite side of a small room and faced them, 
as if at bay. 

They started to follow, calling to him: “Lyman!” 
“Father!” 


(I 9S 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


REUNITED. 

“Stop where you are and listen to me. I am not 
worthy to be called by the name you have just used. 
I am a fugitive from justice. See, I do not try to hide 
the truth. It is a fact too plain to be denied. Please 
be seated. That boy, Herbert Crofton, has, by his 
kindness, made me see the position in which I stand to 
you and the world. When I can prove to you that I 
intend to live a better life in the future, when I have 
paid the penalty of my errors and when every claim 
against me is settled in full, then, and then only, will 
I feel that I am worthy to take your hands.” 

They were still standing at a table, the mother was 
in tears and could not speak. The daughter advanced 
a step and spoke: “Father, you shall not do this thing; 
do you understand ? There are other interests at stake. 
We have a pride and a name to uphold and have done 
so while you were away. No one knows of this mat- 
ter but ourselves. The claims have all been paid out of 
mother’s private fortune, except those of Weston Sib- 
ley, and I was willing to sacrifice all that you and we 
might be spared this disgrace you would bring upon us 
by this determination of yours. No, let me finish. 
We love you ; yes, we worship you, but will not sub- 
mit to the greater injustice which you threaten. We 
are more than glad that you intend to lead a different 
life, but you can do it without making us all the butt 

196 


<£ 1 1 5 a & e t f) Crane 


of our friends. Here, father, come to her, whom you 
promised long ago to love, honor and protect, before 
her heart is entirely broken,” and she went to him and, 
taking his hand, led him forward. She placed her 
mother’s hand in his and said simply : “my dear father 
and mother.” Then she turned away and opened the 
book that lay on the table. It was old and much worn 
and as she picked it up two folded letters dropped out. 
One was old and discolored, the other was her own 
to Herbert. She opened the first and scanned the 
contents and then the signature. “Yes, it is the same,” 
and she drew from her pocketbook the one her uncle 
had sent her and placed them side by side on the table. 
“There can be no question, and I am safe.” She 
waited, not turning her head until her father spoke. 
“Elizabeth, my daughter,” she turned quickly and 
ran to him and throwing her arms around his neck, 
kissed his bronzed face again and again. 

“Come, now,” said she, “let us sit down and talk 
this all over, as Herbert will be up in a few minutes 
and there is much to say. In order to carry out the 
plan we have arranged we must manage to get a tele- 
gram to Weston Sibley, signed by the clerk or some- 
one informing him that you are here. That done, 
we will go home and await your coming. Can we 
depend on you to come at once ?” 

“Yes, daughter, I agree to whatever you fhink best.” 

“I have the letter, which I found in that book on the 
table,” said Elizabeth, “and it makes our case complete. 
I was afraid you had destroyed it. How did you man- 
age to keep it in such good condition ?” 

“Hand me the book and I will show you.” 

He opened it and showed them the opening in the 
back cover and the clever means of concealing it. 

197 


Ctatte 


A knock at the door was heard and Elizabeth ran 
and let Herbert in. 

“Well, Mr. Crane, were they glad to see you?” said 
he, with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Yes; but I warrant no gladder than I.” He smiled 
fondly at one and then the other. “I owe you a debt 
of gratitude that I can never repay even though I live 
a hundred years. You have made us very happy.” 

Another knock at the door. “Who can it be ? Go to 
the door, Herbert, please,” said Elizabeth. 

“A telegram for Mr. Crane,” as he handed it to the 
owner. 

“Daughter, you read it,” he said, with an unsteady 
voice, and he passed it to her and she read: 

Mr. Lyman Crane, 

Hotel A , Room 224. 

If you wish to do so you may return to your family. 
All charges withdrawn ; no prosecution. 

A. Client. 

All looked at each other in blank astonishment. 
No one could utter a word, so great was the surprise 
depicted on their faces. Herbert scratched his head 
and took the telegram and read : “ ‘Client’. Well, that 

beats me. Sibley sent it, and it is from B . I 

am willing to swear he did not follow me, for I had 
eyes everywhere. I would have seen him.” 

“Well, my boy, I do not see that it makes much 
difference: it saves us the trouble of sending one, 
which, I confess, I didn’t quite see the way to do. 
Someone has saved us the trouble, and that is all there 
is to it.” 


Crane 


“We can all go home together, it seems to me,” said 
Elizabeth. 

. “We can simply give him the credit if it will do 
him any good and lose none of it for ourselves. We 
have nothing to wait for. When is the next train 
east ?” 

“For brevity of conclusions, I think you can walk 
away with all the honors,” said Herbert, “and if you 
are all of one mind, I think we can start at once. 
Trains east every hour. All aboard.” 

He arose and started for the door and all followed, 
Elizabeth taking charge of the book and letters. All 
laughed heartily. 

As they were stepping into a carriage in front of 
the hotel Herbert espied and recognized his com- 
panion of the morning getting into a cab and, going 
over to him, said: 

“Kindly tell your employer to come around to- 
morrow afternoon and we will be glad to see him ; 
he has the address. At two-thirty, if it will suit his 
convenience. Oh, yes, by the way, many thanks for 
sending the message.” 

Many witticisms were indulged in on the way home 
at the expense of the detective. He soon took refuge 
in the smoking car and when S was reached, evi- 
dently decided to stop over, as nothing was seen of 
him again. It was late when the party reached home 
and all felt the need of rest. 

At eight the next morning Elizabeth sent this note 
to Weston Sibley by a messenger boy : 

Dear Sir : — We wish to thank you for the return 
of my father, who came home last night, too late to 

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<*E!f?a&ett> Ctane 


thank you then. Will it be convenient for you to call 
this morning ? Please bring papers and oblige, 

Yours truly, 

Elizabeth Crane. 

In half an hour he was announced and was shown 
into the presence of Elizabeth and her mother. Eliza- 
beth arose and said, pointing to a chair: ‘‘Please be 
seated, Mr. Sibley. We want to thank you for what 
you have done for us, even though it has been some- 
what delayed. We are glad to give you the credit of 
inducing my father to return to us.” She resumed her 
seat and continued: “I suppose you are ready at this 
time to comply with the next condition of our con- 
tract ?” 

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth; but is it not a little unkind 
to refer to it as such?” 

“I suppose it is, after the effort you have exerted 
to find him, and then to find him so near home. It 
seems marvelous how keen some of those detectives 
are,” as she held out her hand for the papers. “Are 
you sure they are all here ? Let me see. 

“We can't be too careful you know ; if one of them 
should be missing there is no telling what would hap- 
pen. Three deeds and three affidavits; are you sure 
that is all?” 

“Yes, that is all ; three of each ; six papers in all.” 

“I must show them to my father to make sure that 
they are the original deeds. You know it is so easy 
to make mistakes that cannot be rectified after we 
are married,” and she smiled sweetly as she left the 
room. 

“Yes, they are the originals,” she said, as she re- 
turned. “Father knows them perfectly.” 


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Cl 1 5 a 6 e t ft Ctane 


‘'Then I suppose I can claim my reward at the end 
of another week. I believe that is the arrangement.” 

“Yes, that is it ; but one thing more. Did you ever 
see that letter? It is only a copy, you know; it is 
worded just like the original,” and she handed him the 
letter that her father had received, for him to examine. 

“Oh, no; that letter was sent to Mr. Crane by my 
lawyer.” 

“How strange? The handwriting is so much like 
this other. Perhaps you have seen this one. It is also 
a copy.” She handed him the copy of the letter her 
mother had asked him to write to her brother, George 
Dale. 

“I remember writing a letter like that at your 
mother’s request. I hope he received it all right.” 

“Yes, he received it all right, and Mr. Howell won 
the case for him in the court. I have heard that he 
is a great lawyer, seldom loses a case when he gets 
after a man for wrongdoing. I suppose that is why 
you engaged him?” 

“Yes, he is a great lawyer. None better anywhere, 
and that is why I engaged him ; the best are none too 
good when you have work you want done.” 

“I suppose you are right,” said Elizabeth. “There 
is another strange thing happened, just after my father 
went away; so many strange things happened then. 
Don’t you know ‘it never rains but it pours.’ Well, as 
I was saying, my father answered that letter he re- 
ceived and in a few days Mr. Howell wrote back, and 
this is a copy of his letter. I am sure you did not see 
this one,” and she handed it to him. 

After he had read it through she took it back and 
said: 

“The strangest thing about it is that Mr. Howell’s 


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Cltsafietl) Crane 


clerk must have written one of the letters, for the 
hand writing was entirely different. The other one 
was all hand written. Do distinguished lawyers ever 
write letters by hand nowadays?” 

‘Tm sure I don’t know, besides I can’t see why 
it should matter with us, we will not need a lawyer 
very soon, I hope,” and he laughed rather uneasily, for 
the tone of Mr. Howell’s letter disturbed him some- 
what. He shifted in his chair a moment and said : 

“I suppose you are ready to comply with your part 
of the arrangement. All these letters are interesting 
from the standpoint of crim , I mean from a theo- 
retical standpoint.” * 

“I understand, it all lays with you, Mr. Sibley,” 
and she arose and stood by her mother with her arm 
about her waist. “If you ever utter one word to any 
living soul about my father’s mistakes, I will hand 
the originals of all these letters to Mr. Howell and 
you will have to answer to him. You forged the let- 
ter after being kicked out of his office and I have 
plenty of proof. The deeds and affidavits are in 
ashes now and you have failed in the third condition 
of the contract or agreement, as you prefer to call it. 
Remember, not one word. You may go,” and she 
pointed to the door, at the same time putting her foot 
on a nickel button on the floor. “Go, or I will ring.” 

He had arisen when she stood up and while she 
talked his hands opened and closed nervously. His 
anger gaining strength each moment and the baffled 
rage that consumed him, as she ceased speaking boded 
ill for them indeed. 

“I’ll kill ” 

“Careful, Mr. Sibley; there are witnesses present. 
Once more I say : Go !” 


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OBIifatietft Crane 


He ground his teeth and turned on his heel and 
was about to slide through the door when Elizabeth 
called: “Just one word more, Mr. Sibley. If any- 
thing happens to me or mine Mr. Howell gets these 
letters. Go !” 

The door slammed behind him and in another mo- 
ment the outside door was closed with a bang. 

Instantly the tension on her overstrung nerves gave 
way and she sank into a chair limp and nervous. 
Her mother sat down by her and smoothed her brow 
and gradually calmed her. 

Mr. Crane stepped into the room as soon as the 
door closed after Mr. Sibley and waited a moment, 
knowing there was no danger, and then came forward 
to help them to their feet. 

“You are a brave little girl, my daughter. The re- 
buke from you is much more effective; but I was 
afraid you would break down before it was finished,” 
as he placed his arm around her. “You need have 
no fear from him; you have seen the last of him in 
these parts.” 

It was true. Mr. Sibley was seen an hour later 
coming out of his father’s house with his suit case. 
He stepped into a waiting cab and disappeared. 

Mr. Crane went to his office the next day and took 
up the management of his business and was surprised 
to see how it had grown. If the clerks were curious 
to learn of his extended absence, they refrained from 
speaking of it and he, of course, made no explanation. 

He opened the safe, which had not been touched, and 
the unopened letters were left intact by him to be taken 
care of as future developments required. 

No lack of proof was to be found to show that hon- 
esty is the best policy. 


203 


Cli^a&etf) Crane 


After a pleasant week spent in visiting his own 
people and in renewing the friendship of his childhood 
and early youth, Herbert left for the west. He 
wanted to be with his baby boy — the child who occu- 
pied a warm place in his heart. 

The next Thanksgiving he returned to B and 

led to the altar the love of his early youth — Elizabeth 
Crane. 


THE END. 


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